The Lonely Ones
by Pyralis Anacreon
Summary: Harry's been lost for years, Hermione's half-crazy with the need for revenge and determined to raise an army. Ron never got to know his family before the Death Eaters got to them, and Draco Malfoy's a coward. Heavily AU.
1. The Lonely Ones: Prologue

**THE LONELY ONES**

* * *

_the lost_

His name is Harry Potter because that's the name they found on the letter that he was clutching when they found him in the morning. He was just one year old at the time, they would tell him, and they'd found him that one morning, sleeping in a basket on the orphanage stoop. Happens all too often, they'd say mournfully.

That was sixteen years ago. Three years ago, when he was fourteen, Harry's foster father kicked him out and he decided he wasn't going back into the system. Three years ago, Harry joined a gang.

Three years ago, Harry started driving the getaway car.

He's got kids now, and a girl he doesn't love but he knocked her up and damn if he's going to let a chance at a family go. He's sure that his job will kill him one of these days, but maybe he'll turn eighteen first, get a legal job, and he won't die and his girl, Friday, won't have to go out whoring again. His son won't grow up fatherless, if Harry can help it.

He knows there's something missing. He knows something isn't right with all of this, but he has no idea what, and he can't fix it. He can only have hope.

* * *

_the dead_

Ron wonders what life with the Weasleys would have been like. Everyone was always saying that his parents had many children-he would've had brothers to brag about in school, brothers whose names would protect him from bullies. Maybe a baby sister, one he could protect himself. One who would be annoying at times, one he'd annoy, one who would maybe possibly eventually fall in love with Ron's best friend.

But Ron lives with Arabella Figg, and he has since he was born. His mother was in her last stage of pregnancy when Death Eaters came calling, killed his one-year-old twin brothers and all the other ones, too, and his parents were last they said, and lucky too. Any longer and they might not have been able to save the baby boy from his dead mother's womb.

Lucky child, they tell him, that the Aurors arrived in time to save him.

He wishes they'd left him to die with his family.

Ron is seventeen now, in his last year at Hogwarts. He hangs out with Neville Longbottom simply because of how awful it is to walk down the halls alone and see all the others in their clusters, laughing and trading homework to copy. If he didn't have Neville, he might be like that Hermione girl, who knows where every book in the library is and has read them all.

Sometimes, Ron wonders what the point is. Why is he even trying anymore? It's hope, he decides, a hope that never quite leaves him. And a feeling, in his stomach, that things are not supposed to go this way. A feeling that something - or a lot of somethings, yes, that sounds right - is missing. And a hope that it can be put right.

* * *

_the fallen_

Hermione Granger lost her parents when she was sixteen years old.

Maybe that was old enough, maybe that was too young. But she was old enough (to know exactly whose fault it was) (to know how to stop it from happening again) (to know that it wasn't her fault) and she was young enough (to be angry at all the wrong people) (to think she could actually do it) (to blame herself anyway - _if I just hadn't been a witch, if I had just refused, was it worth it? is magic worth what I have paid_).

Now she spends all her free time in the library, and in the Room of Requirement. Chanting the curses she finds among the shadows and dust, killing those practice dummies, and in her mind's eyes she sees their dead bodies, _was it this easy you Death Eaters, was it like this? I'll kill you and I'll take from you like you took from me DEAD THEY'RE DEAD and it's your fault and you will have Hell to pay. I'll kill you and it will be so easy, I'll kill you and then they can sleep. I can sleep._

Hermione used to be at the top of all her classes, but she barely passes now. She spends all her time teaching herself to fight, now, and no time at all is spent on homework. She has long since realized that school is not the most important thing, that knowledge is just a means to an end - and it is an end she will reach by any means necessary.

_I'll kill you THEY ARE DEAD._

For her, it will be too easy. As she steps further and further from people, and deeper into her own mind, Hermione gains control over herself and fills with anger _for I have been wronged _and very quickly there is nothing else to her world but lust for revenge - and a tiny spark of hope, that when it is done she will have everything again.

* * *

_the broken_

Draco Malfoy loves his parents. He just doesn't agree with them.

It takes him a long time to realize the two aren't mutually exclusive. It takes him even longer to screw up the courage to tell his parents that he doesn't want to be a Death Eater, doesn't hate muggleborns, doesn't even like being cruel all the time. And as he stands outside his father's study door, telling himself to just do it already, Draco also realizes that courage is what Gryffindors do, and Slytherins are a bit more sneaky about things.

Draco had been Sorted into the House of Snakes for a reason.

So his parents have no idea about his true feelings, because Draco plans to live through this war. Voldemort is winning, will surely be the victor in the end. The Light has only the Order of the Phoenix, as formidably trained as they are, and Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore, the white king in this twisted game of chess.

Voldemort, the black king.

Draco, a black pawn wishing he could be on the other side, if only so his name isn't hated.

He's too much of a coward to be a spy, too weak to be of any use to anybody. He just wants _out_. He just wants this stupid, pointless war to _end_, but he's damned either way. For him, he is sure there is no hope.


	2. Harry: The Father

**THE LONELY ONES**

* * *

_one: the father, the mother, and the child_

* * *

"Harry," A voice called. "Harry..." The sound was drawn out and soft, as if the speaker wanted to wake only him.

Harry Potter was wrenched from his nightmare very suddenly, landing back in reality right before those rival gang members had a chance to shoot him. He sat up mechanically, bringing the dream to the front of his mind. If he shoved it back, it would only take longer to fade, and he didn't want to remember Friday's face as they killed her and her children.

It was Friday who had woke him up. "Harry, you had another nightmare." She said, one hand resting on his shoulder.

"I know." Harry said, and wrapped his arms around her. _She's real, it's okay, they're not dead, we're okay_. "Tobe? The twins?" He asked.

"Still asleep."

"Did I... did anything happen?"

Friday looked around the room. It was lit by streetlights shining through the window; he'd forgotten to close the curtains earlier. There was the ratty couch against one wall, the sagging bookshelf almost collapsing under the weight of hundreds of paperbacks, the tiny, unused TV set, the kitchenette in one corner, and the table so piled with clutter there was no open space on it.

Nothing out of place, except for the glowing ball of light above Harry's head.

He cursed, and reached up. The ball came down obediently when he wrapped his hand around it; the thing felt like water, except it kept its form. And glowed. Harry could admit, in trusted company, that he didn't like the dark. Not fear, because fear was something irrational and it was completely rational to be wary of the dark when so many hid within it.

That was probably what brought this thing into life, then.

"How long will it last?" Friday asked, staring at the ball. She always loved it when he did something like this, even though he made it clear that he had little control.

Harry grunted and got up. He opened the door to the small closet, and tossed the glowlight in with all the others he'd created. The first one had a place of honor outside the cardboard box. It was twelve years old and hadn't dimmed a bit. "As long as the others. Forever, maybe."

Some of the things Harry made lasted like the glowlights, and some vanished in minutes, and some took days. There was no real way to tell, but after creating something from nothing the buzzing energy underneath his skin receded a little.

"Will you eat something today?" Friday asked him that question every morning. Some days, just looking at food made the buzzing energy revolt and he felt like he was going to throw up. Others, he could barely stand still and didn't have time to think of eating.

Harry hadn't eaten solid food in a month, and had only the barest sips of water whenever the thought of it didn't make his eyes burn. Friday worried about it, but he stayed strong as ever-stronger, even. Faster, healthier, and with an excellent reaction time. The buzz in his veins was all he needed to keep going.

But today the antsy feeling wasn't as powerful as usual, drained by the glowlight. "Maybe," Harry answered. He'd be able to eat breakfast, and then maybe even choke down some lunch. He didn't have any jobs today, so he planned to spend as much time as he could with his son and Friday's twin girls, Andrea and Abby.

"How is...?" Harry trailed off, motioning to the girl's swollen stomach.

Friday smiled. "Been kicking up a storm all night." She said fondly, one hand going to her stomach as she laid back on her mattress. It was pushed right up against Harry's, in the corner opposite the kitchenette and nearest to the door to the kids' bedroom. "Will you tell me whether it's a boy or a girl? You were right with the twins..." She looked at him hopefully.

Harry shook his head. He couldn't get her to believe that it had been a lucky guess, not with all the other strange and impossible things he did. "I don't know for sure." He said, as he had countless times before. He didn't mention that he had a good feeling it would be a boy.

Friday sighed, and her eyes went to the glowing clock on the wall. "May as well get up now, and start on breakfast. It's too late to go back to sleep." She went to heave herself to her feet, but was stopped by Harry's hand landing on her shoulder.

"It's my day off." He said firmly. "And I'm not letting you do any of the work today. You shouldn't be exerting yourself so much."

Friday's smile was small, but there. She knew how guilty Harry felt about leaving her so often to deal with the kids alone, and while she was so pregnant. But his job as a getaway driver and runner for the gang was their only income since she'd stopped whoring eight months ago.

"Thank you," She half-whispered.

"It's nothing." He said dismissively.

"I mean... for everything. Everything."

Harry's face darkened as he realized she wasn't talking about him giving her a break. "I love you, Small Fry. I'll always take care of you."

* * *

Hermione Granger was happy to wave goodbye to the school year. It meant the end of troublesome lessons getting in the way of her training, the end of scheduled meals that always seemed to arrive just as she was about to master a spell, and the end of chatty girls 'studying' in her library. So many children's parents were lost to the war that Hogwarts was open year-round as a sanctuary for underage witches and wizards with nowhere else to go; the few who chose to stay kept to themselves for the most part.

With all her distractions gone, Hermione could concentrate fully on her studies and her training, and by the time she finished her last years she'd be ready. Ready to join the Order, full of those highly-trained witches and wizards hand-picked by Albus Dumbledore himself. She had already beaten an Order member in a duel once, so she knew she was practically ensured a spot.

And the Order hunted Death Eaters...

But Hermione's studies weren't going so well. Her attention wandered every time she tried to fix her eyes on a page, and for some reason none of her pronunciations in perfect Latin sounded right. After two hours of this, she slammed the book closed, stood up, and marched out of the library. Maybe some fresh air would clear her focus.

It didn't. Hermione huffed and stomped down to the gates, where the apparition wards ended. She needed to get some new potions ingredients from the Alley anyway.

Walking down the Alley calmed her somewhat, so when she was done Hermione went through the Leaky Cauldron and into muggle London, taking in the sights like a tourist might.

She was about ready to head back when she saw it.

* * *

A knock at the door had all five looking up. Harry stood, putting his breakfast plate on the floor, and went to answer the knock with a resigned air.

"Yes?" He said as he pulled it open.

It was TJ, a guy pretty high-up in the gang. More important than Harry, but no one who'd ever see the boss in person. Harry knew TJ from some earlier jobs; a trigger-happy hothead ready to carve up anyone who endangered his rise up the ranks. He didn't think things through, either, which was a real threat to the guys working with him.

A job with TJ was not something sought after.

"Potter." The man greeted with an imperial nod. He looked around Harry and spotted Friday with the kids. "I'd heard, man, but never thought. How'd you snag such a hot piece-"

"Let me stop you right there, TJ, before I have to do something violent." Harry said.

TJ sneered. "Whatever. Don't want her anyway, not wi' all th' kids. Hey Fry, you gonna be whoring agen when th' latest one pops-"

"Were you here for a reason, TJ?" Harry asked in a tightly controlled voice. He was three words away from knocking the other man out. It'd be easy, one uppercut to that jaw stuck so temptingly out as TJ peered around him...

"Yeah yeah, we got a job. Boss wants to try somethin' new, goin' after a place in daylight cuz' nowun 'spects it." TJ shrugged. "Y'know how he gets wi' his new ideas."

Harry knew. He'd been on the receiving end of too many of them not to.

"C'mon, Potter. Yer driving." He threw Harry the car keys.

Harry looked back at his family. Solemn, three-year-old Tobe, his son, the two-year old twins about to cry for the young man they knew as Da, and Friday, looking sad and old and very small as she sat there with one hand on her stomach. Only Tobe was his in blood, but they were Harry's family and he hated to leave them like this, without knowing if he'd ever come back.

Then TJ closed the door, and Harry had a job to do.

* * *

It was a pawnshop owned by a rival gang. It wasn't so important that it needed a guard; all the shop did was pass smuggled drugs and guns along. But it was worth taking, so they took it.

Or tried to.

Harry sat in the car outside, wondering what was taking so long. His fingers drummed nervously at the steering wheel and he kept an eye on both ends of the street, looking for trouble to show up. The buzzing feeling was making his head feel funny, like there was a cloud between his ears, and he shook his head to clear it. Driving like this was as good as driving drunk.

TJ finally emerged from the shop, but the two goons he'd brought with him didn't, and the man was running the flat-out sprint of one who is about to die.

"Shit," Harry cursed as he kicked open the passenger side door and got ready to floor it.

TJ dived for the open door and Harry pressed the pedal almost all the way down. His partner almost didn't make it in.

"The Hell happened?" Harry shouted, swerving instinctively as a hail of bullets fell on them.

"I don't-" There was a _thunkhiss_ as a tire was hit. "-know!" The car weaved dangerously on its punctured tire and proceeded to crash into a hydrant.

Harry didn't bother saying anything more; with the getaway crashed, it was every man for himself. He rolled out of the driver's seat, took cover behind a parked car, and marked all three armed thugs running towards them from the shop. He pulled out a handgun, took aim, fired. Four shots later, two of the men were never getting up again and the third was nearly upon him.

The buzzing under Harry's skin intensified, but he was barely aware of it, swamped with adrenaline and fear. He noticed when it jumped off his skin, however, and formed itself into something four-legged and furred, something with claws and teeth and cruel eyes.

The wolf's hackles were up. It didn't waste time with any more intimidation than that, but instead went for the last man's jugular. He put up a valiant fight, but bullets couldn't hurt the thing and all that muscle did nothing against the wolf's deadly speed.

Harry watched, breathless. When it was finished, the thing he'd created came to stand in front of him, like it was awaiting further orders. It got only a dumb stare. With something suspiciously like a sigh, the wolf faded away. But not before it looked pointedly over Harry's shoulder with an all-too-human intelligence.

Harry turned, and saw a bushy-haired witness.

* * *

Hermione stared at the blood spreading from the dead body. She was numb all over, even in her mind.

Her first thought was that that had been an impressive display of wandless magic, one she'd have thought impossible if she hadn't seen it happen. Her second was that he was showing off, he could've just sent a cutting curse at the man instead of conjuring a living wolf from thin air to rip the man to shreds.

Her third was that no one was that stupidly powerful.

Her fourth was that she'd just witnessed the latest, most powerful case of accidental magic ever.

Her fifth was that if that young man didn't get training very soon, he was going to explode with the buildup of power. And take most of London with him, too.

* * *

Harry was sorry to find that his first reaction was to raise the gun-two bullets left, that's enough for her-and shoot her. No one could know about his power. He didn't do it, of course, because Harry wasn't a murderer and no one would believe the girl anyway.

With that firmly in mind, he ran.

* * *

Hermione's brain worked very quickly. By the time she'd finished her leaps of reason and settled on _way too powerful_, Harry had only had time to look at his gun thoughtfully. When he ran, she was ready with a tracker. The invisible jet of magic sped straight for him-her aim was the best she'd ever known-and slid right off.

She didn't have time to be taken by surprise. There were mothers and fathers in this city, and this boy's eventual explosion of magic would take those parents from their children. She could not allow that to happen.

Hermione trailed him for about three blocks. She was more fit than most wizards, from all of her practice, but her prey was almost inhumanly fast. As she was rounding that third block, he was rounding the other end. She was going to lose him.

The stunner left her wand almost of its own accord. It struck him between the shoulder blades and he went to one knee, half-collapsing before collecting himself. A second stopped his rise back to his feet and a third finally knocked him out.

She took her time getting to his body, keeping an eye out for any muggles who might've seen it. But people in this part of the city minded their own business; not a single curtain flapped. Hermione felt for a pulse in his neck, worried that three might've killed him. But he hadn't fallen to the first two and she knew for a fact that two stunners was enough for everything without giant blood or dragon's hide.

Looking down at the young man, Hermione had to wonder, _what is he?_

_And why have we never found him before?_


	3. Harry: The Protector

**THE LONELY ONES**

**

* * *

**

_two: the protector, the survivor, and the helpless_

_

* * *

_

Harry awoke to find himself in the same place he'd collapsed in-which wasn't what he expected. Not after his pursuer had slammed him with something hard and blunt three times. Anyone who wasted that kind of effort would take the time to tie him up and get him to a less public place.

He noted that the sun didn't seem to have shifted at all. He'd been out for minutes at most, definitely not enough time.

Harry didn't understand; he'd been running, and no one caught him when he ran. There must have been another, waiting in ambush, the woman had a partner. But how could they know where to be, unless...

Unless he'd been followed.

With that thought held in his mind, and the fear of what they would do to his family, Harry got ready to fight.

* * *

Hermione could literally feel the boy's train of thought. His magic mimicked it exactly, rising with its anger and paranoia, sharpening as his focus became clearer, becoming a hard, razor shell as determination settled in.

She was very, very afraid.

No one should be so powerful she could feel it without even trying. Feel it so easily, every edge clearly defined. This man should not have been able to hide for this long, not with this kind of power. He hadn't had any sort of training, she could tell that now, so someone was protecting him.

Someone didn't want this young man in the war. Someone was waiting for this young man to turn into a bomb.

Then her captive surged up from the ground, bringing the gun he still hadn't dropped level with her thighs, her stomach, her chest-

That was about as far as he got, because Hermione was ready with cords shooting from her wand to envelope him. He was surprised, but he twisted to the side in time to avoid the spell. It hit a car and wrapped around it.

He went to aim at her again, but Hermione was readying another spell. The wand movements were as familiar as her own name, the incantation completely silent. Stupefy.

_No one should be able to get up after three stunners_, she thought.

He didn't dodge the stunner. He ducked and rolled under it, coming up hard inside her guard. His momentum carried both of them backwards, falling to the pavement.

There was a stomach-turning wet thunk as Hermione's head met the ground, and she saw bursts of light for a moment. Then everything went black.

* * *

Harry liked the fact that the tables had turned, but wondered what he was going to do now. And where was the girl's partner?

He looked back at her unconscious face and realized she couldn't have been much older than himself-which was like middle-age when you lived rough. She didn't have the clothes, though, or the look of hunger about her. She'd never gone without food. That made it very unlikely she was any kind of competent gangster.

So if it wasn't another gang, why was someone so young coming after him? Could it have been just chance that she saw what she did? An innocent bystander?

But her partner. She'd been nowhere near Harry and somehow knocked him out.

Too many questions, and only one person who could answer them.

Harry considered the girl's form for a moment, deciding the best way to pick her up. Eventually, he hefted her into a fireman's carry and then moved her onto his back. He hoped they looked like a boyfriend carrying his tired girlfriend home, and not like a teenage gangster kidnapping someone.

Harry put down his burden when he reached a car that looked like it'd be an easy target. The driver's side door sprung open in moments; he stashed the picks back in his pocket and then managed to wrestle the girl's limp form into the back seat. She was heavy and he was panting by the time he could close the door without hitting some part of her.

Harry was reluctant to bring her back to his apartment, but he had nowhere else to go. There were safe-houses, but they had guards he'd need to explain himself to, guards who might take her away and question her themselves, and then find out about him...

And that wasn't an option.

Friday answered the door. Her eyes widened when she saw the girl's unconscious form, again on his back, and she stepped aside wordlessly to let him in. Tobe had a twin in each hand, and was standing right behind his mother, excited to greet their father.

"Tobe, honey, why don't you take your sisters to your room, okay?" Friday suggested. "Daddy's got some work problems."

The boy's face fell but he quietly led Andrea and Abby back to their bedroom.

Friday helped Harry tie the girl to one of their stronger chairs, holding the scissors to cut the duct tape. She also suggested that they put sheets of paper between tape and skin; Harry wasn't sure they should be treating a captive with such care, but he wasn't the kind of person who caused pain for no reason, especially with his kids one room over.

When they had finished that, Friday moved around behind the girl to check her head; there was no bleeding where she'd whacked it against the ground, but Friday concluded that she might still have a concussion.

Then the girl woke up.

* * *

Hermione Granger didn't like waking up in strange places for the same reasons most people don't like it: the disconcerting confusion of unfamiliar scenery, and too many hours spent watching the television.

She panicked a little bit, ripping at the duct tape around her hands and stretching hre jaw to work off the tape there. It hurt so much that tears stung her eyes involuntarily and she stilled.

Then the man from before came into view.

Hermione blinked the tears away, not willing to let him see her cry. She resolved to be as difficult as possible, no matter what he did, and with that settled began to glare bloody murder at him.

Of course, once the glare was set in her face, her considerable mind needed something else to occupy itself, and latched on to studying her captor.

His clothing had seen better days-many, many days. They looked well worn and comfortably molded to his form in the way that came with age. His hair was black and stuck up so much that it told her exactly what he thought of mortal concepts like gravity. His eyes were a shade of green more commonly found in fresh grass and new leaves.

Handsome, then, very much so. Hermione, who had been successfully ignoring her hormones for years, merely idled on the thought of how much her dorm mates would gush over his pale skin and royal features. They probably wouldn't notice the shallow laugh lines around his eyes, or the too-deep worry lines, or all the signs of age on such a young body. This man had never had an easy day in his life.

While she studied him, Harry looked right back. She didn't _seem _like a random psychopath who'd decided to off him for the fun of it. Her clothes were nice enough, better than his own second-or-third-hand things, but certainly not new. Harry himself spent all the clothing money on Friday and the kids, keeping very little for himself and sometimes none at all. He'd often wake up in the morning and find too-small shirts hade suddenly decided to grow in the night.

Aside from her clothing, she didn't seem to be much more than the average person out for a midday stroll. Closer inspection revealed that she was his age, maybe older, and that while she wasn't the most financially gifted, she could afford the essentials with ease. Her brown hair was cut short, only about as long as a finger, and from the way it still managed to poof, he guessed it would've been monstrously bushy if it were longer. She had brown eyes and a pair of unfortunately large front teeth.

"What's your name?" Harry asked.

Hermione remained silent and then decided she couldn't just keep calling him 'that bastard who kidnapped me' in her mind. "What's yours?"

"I asked you first."

"I'm tied up. I should at least get your name so I can curse it later."

"Makes sense." He admitted. "Harry."

"Hermione. Nice to meet you. Let me go."

Harry smiled. "It's not going to be that easy."

"It's very easy, actually." She assured him. "Just take this tape of my wrists and point me to the door. Really, I'll do the rest." _And hex you halfway to a coma on my way out_. But she didn't say that part out loud.

That annoying smile twitched a little wider. "Why did you come after me? What were you trying to do?"

Hermione stared him in the eyes and very deliberately pressed her lips together._ Not talking_.

A brief but vicious staring contest ensued. Hermione wound up blinking only because Harry's eyes flashed golden for a moment and lost just enough concentration for her burning eyes to close themselves.

Her eyes watering, she wondered if he'd done that on purpose.

A thought hit her. Oh, duh. These walls didn't look soundproofed, and this seemed more like an apartment than a house. She could scream-

A gun cocked in front of her face.

Harry had noticed Hermione taking a deep breath, and knew from experience what was coming next. His hand darted to the gun still tucked into the back of his jeans and whipped it out to land in front of the girl's face.

"Don't even think about it." Harry said.

The breath left Hermione's lungs in a rush as she stared down the barrel. "Okay." She said._ I guess I'm not quite ready to die yet._

"You're going to answer my questions," Harry breathed. Hermione had to strain to hear him. "Or I'm going to shoot some fingers off. My aim isn't that good, however, so I might miss."

Hermione looked truly scared, mostly because she was. Harry ignored the sick feeling in his stomach, and told his conscience that it was a completely empty threat. For one, his kids were in the next room and would hear every scream. For another, he just didn't have the ruthlessness needed to torture, and knew it, and was quietly proud of that fact.

"Okay." Hermione said in the same soft tone Harry had used. "What was your question again?" She'd never been good at thinking up lies on the spot, but how hard could it be when her life depended on it?

Then there was a knock on the door.

* * *

Harry sighed as he tucked the gun away once more. Way to ruin the atmosphere.

There was a peephole in the door but somehow an insect had gotten stuck in there years ago, and it was useless unless one wanted to examine the anatomy of a mummified fly. Harry made sure the little chain connecting the door to the frame was locked and opened it.

A very familiar face stared back at him.

He slammed the door shut, fumbled with the chain and eventually managed to unlatch it. He opened it all the way then, and a young man stepped into the room.

"Harry." Kidd Mors said with a nod. "Thought for a second there you were locking me out."

Harry grinned. "Wouldn't even think of it."

Kidd's expression turned serious. "My mother wants to know why TJ came back to the house screaming about how you screwed up and got everyone killed."

Harry paled a little. "He's doing _what_?"

"Oh, don't worry. She doesn't believe a word of it, but you know how the others are. They want you questioned and she can't afford to play favorites with King trying to usurp her. More wood for the fire, and all that. So she sent me ahead to warn you." He fixed Harry with a look. "You should've hightailed it back to base, not home. You know that. What's happened?"

Harry sighed. "Not sure," He admitted. Kidd, though he was Harry's closest friend excluding Friday, didn't know about Harry's power. Kidd was three years older and the gang leader's son; he might pressure Harry into using the strange power for the gang, something Harry wasn't willing to do. "This girl attacked me as I was running away, and I knocked her out, got her back here..." He trailed off, realizing that in his lie the reasonable thing to do was assume she was part of the guard on that pawnshop and bring her back to base. Which he had not done.

"Shit, Harry, you shoulda brought her to us. Where's your head today?"

"Vacation, apparently." Harry muttered, and that distraction was all Kidd needed to slip around him and into the apartment.

"Hey, wait-!"

Kidd pulled up in a dead stop, causing Harry to almost crash into him.

"Kidd?" Harry asked.

"Granger?" Kidd exclaimed, at the same time Hermione said, "Mors?"

"What?" Harry asked again.

* * *

"The Hell?" Harry said. "You two... know each other?"

"Uh, yeah. Remember I went away for a few months, about three years ago?" Kidd said over his shoulder at Harry. His eyes never left Hermione.

"Fuck yeah I do. I get kicked out of my foster father's you drop me at your mother's, give me a job and vanish. Thanks for that, by the way." The sarcasm was evident.

"You shot me when I got back. We're even." This was an old argument.

"Whatever. Where does she come into this?" Harry demanded, pointing.

Hermione remained silent. She was trying hard to figure out why Harry suddenly looked so familiar, with that half-angry, half-something-a-bit-like-happiness expression.

"I was... being schooled abroad. My mother wanted me sent to a normal school for a bit, for the 'social networking' skills or some shit, and that's where I met Granger, here." He squinted at Hermione. "Mind you, she didn't have a chest back then. Good for you."

Hermione felt the strangest urge to rip his throat out with her teeth.

"Wait..." Mors looked thoughtful for a moment. "Last time I knew, Granger here was a bookworm. A bit vicious about her schoolwork, but no gangbanger. I mean, yeah, I heard 'er parents kicked the bucket-" Hermione played out several scenarios in her mind where Kidd's painful death was prominent, but Harry's quick hand over her mouth prevented her from sharing them at a loud decibel. "-But she knows better than to get involved with a gang."

He was looking meaningfully at her; she knew he was thinking that she'd revealed her magic to get a place in a gang.

"I am _not _in a gang." She said when Harry finally removed his hand. "And _he's _one of us." She snapped, glaring at Kidd and jerking her head towards Harry.


	4. Harry: The Warrior

**THE LONELY ONES**

**

* * *

**

_three: the warrior, the angel, the devil, and the king

* * *

_

Harry stared at Hermione, who alternated between staring at him and at Kidd, whose eyes had locked onto Harry right after Hermione spoke. There was judicious amounts of staring all around for almost a solid minute.

"_What_?" Harry finally asked. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Kidd was still staring. "Oh my God." He said, eyes widening even further. "Holy _fuck_!" His legs suddenly didn't seem able to hold him anywhere. He blindly caught the back of the chair Hermione was tied to and he managed to remain standing. "I never connected-muggleborn, y'know, didn't grow up with it-but holy shit!"

"What?" Hermione was also wondering. She didn't think the news would upset Mors this much. It was a big deal, yeah, but he was getting creepy with the wide-eyed awe.

"It's Harry _fucking _Potter!" Kidd said, pointing.

...Oh. Well, that explained the familiarity of his face; Harry looked just like his father, who she'd found a picture of in a Transfigurations textbook. Hermione had at the time thought that James Potter was handsome enough, but with those green eyes Harry was at least two times better-and he didn't have that annoying arrogant smirk that reminded her of Malfoy.

Her thoughts were splitting into inconsequential details now, her way of processing. The scar was there, yes, faint but shaped like a bolt of lightning. The Potter hair, rumored to literally be a curse, the mother's eyes-and oh god Harry fucking Potter was alive and didn't know a speck of magic and was going to blow up London in a few months.

Hermione decided that this was an appropriate time to jump back into reality.

"Yes my name's Harry fucking Potter and has been for a while now, so would you kindly explain to me what the hell is going on?" Harry Potter was saying.

"He doesn't know anything about our world." Hermione told Kidd. "I saw him doing it accidentally and tried to capture him because if he doesn't get some training soon all or half of London is going to go up in flames."

"This explains so much." Kidd said. "So much. About him. And things."

"Well I'm glad you seem to be understanding this because I need someone to explain. _Now_." The gun was back out, pointing somewhere between the two of them.

Kidd frowned. "I told you," He started, and then did something with his hands that somehow had the gun in his grip and pointed at the floor. "To never pull a gun you're not fully prepared to fire."

"Well I'm sor-ree for being a little bit freaked out when my friend and some freak girl who just admitted to trying to _kidnap me _start talking in codes and vague words." Harry snapped. "I want an explanation. Now."

"Okay, fine. You might want to sit down."

Harry snorted. "I'll stand, thanks."

* * *

By the end of it, Harry was sitting down.

"The world has gone insane." Harry concluded. "And no one bothered to tell most of the people about it."

"That was my reaction, too, when I got my letter. Mum had me homeschooled of course, but I would've gone to Hogwarts."

"Can you untie me now? I won't do anything anymore." Hermione asked, shifting her arms. She was pretty sure they were completely asleep.

"How did I not see it?" Kidd wondered aloud. "I mean, Harry Potter's not that common of a name. And you've got the scar, now that I'm looking for it. It is sort of hard to see under that bird's nest you call your hair."

"What's this thing about my name?" Harry said. "You both flipped out."

"Is no one listening to me?" Hermione asked loudly.

"Well, there's sort of this... thing." Kidd looked uncomfortable. "I'm not really involved in that world anymore-I just use magic to help mum's business along. But there was this Dark Lord, seventeen years ago, who terrorized the Wizarding World. He was really powerful, and very good at guerrilla warfare. No one could catch him, or kill him. The Potters, your family, had faced him three times and got away, and that wasn't something he could ignore. Halloween night sixteen years ago, he attacked the Potters. Your mother and father died at his hand, but you... you survived. His favorite spell is the Killing Curse. It causes instant, painless death, and it cannot be shielded against, and it cannot be survived. But you did, and the curse rebounded onto him.

"He became something less than a ghost or even a spirit. Three years ago he rose again in a new body, so he's back now and still up to his old tricks."

Harry hadn't thought about his parents in a long, long time. Years, maybe. Hearing that they were dead didn't even make an impact; he'd decided at the age of fourteen that he didn't need them and he didn't want them, either.

But he found some closure in knowing that they were dead. He would never have to wonder again what had happened, and why he wound up on the doorstep of an orphanage.

"And... peoplesortathinkHarryPotter'stheonlyonewhocandefeathim." Kidd finished in a rush.

The nice warm feeling went away. "_What_? No, don't repeat that. I could have sworn you just said a society of thousands collectively decided to heap all theirs problems on the shoulders of a boy they're pretty sure is _dead_. And that can't _be_, because I _know _my species can be a bit daft at times but _there's no way _that can happen. I don't want to live in the world where that can happen."

"I, uh, well. There's a rumor about a group trying to resist the Dark Lord. They're really well-trained and supposedly led by Albus Dumbledore. The Order of the Phoenix, it's called."

"And I suppose phoenixes are real?"

"He keeps one as a pet."

(Somewhere, a phoenix squawked indignantly and an old man had to assure it that he didn't think of it as a pet at all, more of a familiar, _really_.)

"Lovely."

* * *

Hermione did eventually get untied, but only when Kidd had lapsed into uncomfortable, staring silence and Harry had to find something for his hands to do before the buzzing under his skin (_magic_, he thought with a shiver) erupted into something violent. Like fire, or a sabertooth tiger. (That had happened before. It wasn't pretty.)

The girl rubbed her wrists, glaring at him. She didn't care if he was Harry Fucking Potter; he was a right prick in her books. Then the pain hit as blood flowed back into her arms, and she wasn't thinking much of anything anymore.

"Oww..." She groaned. Her legs hadn't fared much better.

"Harry?" A female voice called from behind Hermione. "Can we come out now?"

Harry had forgotten all about Friday and the kids hiding in the other room. "Oh, yeah. Sorry. There was a problem... it's fixed now I guess."

"The kids are hungry, I'm going to make dinner." Harry checked the cheap watch on his wrist; how had the time passed that fast? "You want some? Kidd?" Friday's eyes were flickering between Hermione and Harry, obviously asking if it they were going to be feeding her as well.

"Yeah, I'm kind of hungry. This mess made me miss lunch." Kidd said.

"It won''t be much more than a sandwich." Friday warned, and set about in the kitchen. Andrea, Abby, and Tobe peaked out of the doorway.

Harry beckoned them to come to him as he said, "Don't make one for me, Fry." He was still wound up, and the buz-_magic _came back faster when he was stressed. "How much of this did you hear?" He asked Friday.

She blushed slightly. "Most, maybe all of it." Harry guessed she'd had her ear pressed to the door, but he didn't blame her. In their world, information was power.

"And the kids?"

"It's amazing that you have magic, Daddy!" Andrea gushed. "Can you do some now?"

Hermione had started when the two-year-old called him her father, but now she looked scared. "That's not a good idea. Your magic is untrained and very powerful-you could hurt people if you started trying to use it."

Harry frowned, pulled both the twins into his lap, and said, "You mentioned that before. What do you mean?"

"I mean, most wizards are sent a letter by the age of eleven, telling them about magic and inviting them to learn to use it at Hogwarts. Then they either go to Hogwarts, like I did, get a private tutor, like Kidd, or refuse, which isn't common but isn't unheard of, either. If the wizard refuses, their magic is bound so that it can't grow like yours did and cause problems for everyone. Then they can also choose to have their memory wiped."

"I didn't get any letter."

"Yeah, and they sent out search parties for three months before it was decided you had died. There are some nutjobs who think Albus Dumbledore spirited you away and trained you in secret."

"And if I don't do something soon, I'm going to... explode."

"That's the gist of it, yeah. Usually you have to start controlling magic young, in order to get any kind of control over it when you're older, so I think your only option is getting it bound." Hermione was hesitant, and Harry noticed.

"What now? Why are you looking like that?" He asked, irritated.

"It's just that I've found Harry Potter and he's completely useless to us." She admitted.

"Well, I don't care what you think about what I can and can't do." Harry snapped. "This _magic _has saved my life a dozen times over and I'm not getting rid of it until I'm _sure _it's either that or die in a fiery explosion."

"Well... If you're going to keep your magic, Dumbledore's the man to ask. He might know a way." Hermione said.

Kidd wandered over from the kitchen, a half-eaten sandwich in hand. "So what's been decided?"

"We're off to see the Wizard!" Andrea and Abby sing-songed in unison.

* * *

Ron helped himself to some more stale birthday cake. It seemed that any cake that spent more than an hour in Aunt Arabella's kitchen inevitably went stale before it's time, so he'd gotten used to the taste. A cat wound itself around his ankle and suddenly he remembered Scabbers, the pet rat he'd had for about ten minutes at the age of six. Then the kneazles got to it.

God, he hated cats and cat-like animals in general. They made him sneeze - Figg refused to believe anyone could be _allergic _to her little babies - and they usually hated him on sight.

"Get." He muttered, kicking lightly at the thing. His pants caught the worst of the resulting scratch, but the kneazle got the message. Ron refocused on his homework.

There was a cake stain up by his name; Snape was going to have a field day with that. It didn't matter that Ron was in his house; Ron associated with the Puffiest Hufflepuff to ever exist, Neville Longbottom, and it had somehow leaked that the only reason he went into Slytherin was because he 'had ambition' and not much else going for him.

This wasn't exactly true. Ron knew more about people than they thought; he'd correctly predicted every relationship and alliance formation and breakup for three years running now. His last mess up had been Malfoy, but that was a personal matter so he couldn't be expected to view that objectively.

But Ron _was _a Slytherin, and for more reason than that the house was the only one left. He kept his mouth shut - even if it was more because he had no one to talk to and less that he was good at keeping secrets - out of habit and kept his head down because he liked it firmly attached to his shoulder, thank you, and Slytherin was a dangerous house to be in when you're a blood traitor raised by a squib and your family was one of the last to fall to Lord Voldemort.

So he kept his head down and made sure no one got close enough to figure out how much dirt he had on just about everyone - including more than a few teachers.

That would be bad.

* * *

"You have _kids_?" Hermione asked, disbelieving.

"Obviously. And I'm not leaving them here for an undefined length of time without protection." Harry replied, glaring at her for even suggesting it.

"But - you're seventeen! You can't - you'd have to have been like fourteen!"

"I was." Harry said shortly.

"He doesn't like to talk about it." Kidd told her.

"He thinks he's protecting me," Friday said with a smile in Harry's direction. "I was a prostitute and some of the guys took Harry out to celebrate his first job. They got him drunk and bought me for a night as a present to him. I got pregnant with Tobe and Harry swore he'd support me if I kept it. I've been living with mostly him ever since."

"She doesn't need to know that." Harry said.

"No one else was going to tell her."

"People, let's go. If we want to get to Hogwarts before morning, we better start moving." Kidd interrupted, making ushering motions toward the door.

"We packed!" Tobe and the twins came out of their room, proudly holding up their little bags overflowing with winter clothes and toys.

Harry almost literally melted in place. "You did! Thank you! Such thoughtful children, we have." He smiled and pulled all three into a hug while Friday used the distraction to carefully switch out the heavy coats and jackets with more appropriate clothes. "Good job."

Their bright smiles made Harry wonder why he was leaving them behind, again. Oh yeah, could be dangerous, something, something.

Eventually his brain kicked back into gear. "Fry, where're - "

"Already got 'em." She grunted, stepping backwards off the bottom shelf of the closet and pulling the two bags on the top shelf with her. "Oof. Why do we keep these things up there?"

"Well, they don't really get used all that often." Harry went to help her pack.

"What's this?" Hermione asked, holding one of the glowing orbs. It was the one off the shelf; the oldest one. It cast a soft greenish light over her hands.

"I don't know. I make them sometimes, accidentally. Magic I guess. There's an entire box of them in there." Harry nodded toward the cardboard box in the closet.

While Hermione went to investigate, Kidd said, "I don't know what Dumbledore'll want to do with you - it's been suggested he's senile - so you should leave your bag here for now. We'll take Friday and the kids to my house, and I'll tell my mum where we're gonna be so no one comes looking. They'll be safe there."

"Just make sure everyone knows not to corrupt my kids too badly." Harry replied.

"Will do. I'll let them know we're coming. Mother doesn't like surprise visits, even if it is you." Kidd waved and was gone from the apartment with a crack.

"What did he mean by that?" Hermione asked. "And is he missing some fingers?"

"Actually, yes." Harry said faintly, staring at the spot where Kidd had been. "Both trigger fingers. Got cut off. Rival gang. Years ago. Is he gonna be okay?"

"Of course. That's just apparition; most wizards over the age of sixteen know how to do it, and some even before that. Instant teleportation. How does he shoot, then?"

Harry shook his head of the fear that Kidd had just gotten himself killed. "He holds the gun upside down, uses his little finger to pull the trigger. It's weird but it works."

"That's horrible. Why would anyone be in a gang when that sort of thing can happen?"

"Well, he _is _the boss's son. They were trying to make sure he'd never be able to pick up a gun against them and get a little ransom in the deal, too."

"So his mother paid the ransom?"

"Never got the chance. I met Kidd when I was sleeping in a back alley and was woke up by screaming. I think that was the first time I used magic on such a large scale." Harry's form hunched, as if burdened by the memory.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, almost afraid to.

"I don't know what exactly I created, but they tore everything and everyone to shreds. I found Kidd in the basement, passed out. I don't know what he thinks happened that night, but I got him out and conscious enough to tell me where he lived, and I walked him home. Scared the shit out of his mum."

"Thanks... for telling me."

"It helps. Talking about it. And so far I've only been able to talk to Fry - it feels good not to be keeping secrets anymore. They just push people apart."

Kidd reappeared then, with another loud crack of displaced air. It sounded like a gunshot, or a car backfiring. "Alright. Mum's having the spare bedrooms set up, she's all excited to see your little ones again, and she's told me that if you don't stay and talk for at least half an hour she's tying you up."

Harry shook his head. "Your mum's the only one who can say that without making it sound dirty or frightening. C'mon kids, we're going to see Grandma Mors for a little while."

"You're leaving, aren't you?" Tobe asked solemnly, his big eyes staring up at Harry.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, little guy." Harry crouched down to hug him again.

Tobe hugged back and then pulled away to give Harry his most serious look. Harry tried not to laugh. "It's fine. As long as you come back."

Harry wasn't smiling anymore. "I will. I promise." And Harry was nothing if not a man of his word.


	5. Harry: Pandora

**THE LONELY ONES**

* * *

_four: pandora's son, the lovers, and the glass man  
_

* * *

Draco Malfoy was a selfish little boy. He didn't want to kill muggleborns, didn't want to fight for the Dark Lord, didn't want anything to do with the war. His dearest wish was to move far, far away, forget all about the world and bury himself in printed words.

He was a selfish coward; he was perfectly able to switch sides, become a spy or even just take refuge. The Light wasn't turning anyone away. He knew in his heart - small as it must be - that that was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do, if he wanted to convince himself he had a soul.

Well, a soul wasn't of much use to him anyway. Even knowing what was right, Draco didn't do it. It wasn't fear that kept him back, but the knowledge that if he did what he should, his life would become complicated and difficult and be in danger all the time.

In short, he was choosing what was easy over what was right, and no amount of regret could make him change his mind.

(That's right, lock up your heart in a cold dark corner you don't feel anything, do you? Is this how it started for your parents _shut up_)

He made excuses and threw them away, disgusted with himself. If he was going to be a coward, the least he could do for himself was face the shaming knowledge head on. It was only what he deserved.

(What happened to your plans why did you never talk why didn't you tell someone just open your mouth _shut up it's not that easy _yes it really is you're just a _liar_)

So Draco deserved pretty much everything that happened to him - from his father being thrown in prison to being trapped into an Oath he'd never be able to hold to.

How the hell was he supposed to kill Albus Dumbledore?

It occurred to Draco, not for the first time, that Voldemort was off his rocker; and more, that the snake-man had jumped off, willingly, and then turned around and blasted the rocker to pieces. Just, y'know, to make sure he could never be talked back onto it.

So here was Draco, sitting in his family home. His fugitive of a father hiding out in the basement, his mother wandering around the house like a ghost, and himself, trying to look like he was thinking about how to kill an old man. He was pretty sure he looked more like a pathetic, lost little boy.

(Crying for mommy and daddy oh how sad little boy they're not around anymore little boy you're on your own little boy - )

He's supposed to be of age, but he felt like a child and he wanted his parents to tell him - even if they're lying - that it's all going to be okay.

( - no on to hold you little boy grow up already you're pathetic _shut up shut up shut up!_)

Draco really needed to stop responding to the voices, but first he'd need to stop listening to them and right now, going insane was only what he deserved for being a pathetic, cowardly, selfish liar.

* * *

Jenna Mors was a strong woman. It was only to be expected from the leader of one of the strongest gangs in London, but she took it to a whole other level.

"If you don't show you're willing to do something, none of the people who follow you will be willing to do it for you." Was something she often said. Usually while doing something particularly unpleasant, like digging a grave, burning a body, or cutting one up so it would more easily fit into the acid-resistant plastic bins.

When Harry, Kidd, Hermione, Friday and the kids apparated into the living room of Kidd's house, they found Jenna sitting in an armchair, waiting.

"Grandma!" The twins yelled, running for the woman. Tobe followed close behind.

Jenna Mors didn't have any soft spots, it was a fact. But if she did have just one, it would probably be for children. She swept up each of the twins onto a hip and ruffled Tobe's hair.

"And how've you little ones been?" She asked, completely ignoring her son and company.

Andrea and Abby answered. "We're going to be staying with you!"

"Really." Jenna said, and then turned to Harry. "You. Come give me a hug. I haven't seen you in so long - have you been eating all right? If you'd just let me help with the money problems - "

"I'm fine, Mrs. Mors." Harry murmured, giving the woman a half-hug and stepping away. If Jenna Mors had a second soft spot, it would've been for Harry.

"It's Jenna, I told you. Kidd! Why're you just standing there, you lazy boy. Take their bags to their rooms - now!"

"Not even a hello," Kidd muttered. "I knew she loved him more than me." Despite his jealous words, his tone was joking. Hermione was left stranded as Kidd vanished through a door with the luggage and the children and Harry seemed to be involved in a conversation with Jenna.

She caught herself staring at him, most notably the part of him below the waist. Jerking her eyes away, they instead settled on Friday, who was watching her. She flushed guiltily.

"It's okay," Friday said. Hermione looked up and saw her smiling softly. Everything about Friday seemed soft, except it was like velvet-covered steel. Underneath, she was strong. "It's hard not to notice him."

"You two aren't...?" Hermione trailed off, hoping she'd understand.

"Yes, and no. He's the father to my children - he's said he'll do anything for me and I believe him. But it's not love like the kind that makes you feel... Well. It's just comfortable and comfort. Still, don't get your hopes up. Harry's never seemed to think of anyone that way."

Friday's hands settled over her stomach. "I'm okay with it, though."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" Hermione asked.

This made the other girl smile. "I guess I don't have to find out just yet."

It occurred to Hermione that she and Friday were worlds apart and standing right next to each other. It had been a while, but she recognized the subtle feeling of _home_. She could learn to love these people.

Then Kidd came back with a prepubescent... girl? boy? and none of Harry's kids. "They're all settled in. Sara wanted to see Harry."

Sara, a girl about the age of ten or eleven with a boyish haircut, raced forward and latched onto Harry's legs. He bent at the waist to awkwardly hug her and plant a kiss in her hair.

"Harry, Harry, look what I learned!" Sara proceeded to take out a knife and make it dance between the fingers of her hands.

He laughed, maybe a little tightly, and plucked the knife away. "Careful there, Sara. You don't want to lose some fingers like your big brother, do you?"

"Yes!" She said, and leaned in conspiratorially. "I'm going to learn to shoot soon and I'll hold the gun like Kidd does. Except I'll be better 'cause I can do it both ways!" She tried to whisper it but the entire room heard.

"Sara's going to be Hogwart's age soon." Kidd said. "If Dumbledore wants you taught at the school, you'll be seeing a lot more of her."

Sara turned wide eyes of Harry. "You do magic too?" She exclaimed.

Harry smiled and held out a fisted hand, palm up. As he opened it an orange and black flower blossomed there; he picked it out and tucked it behind her ear.

"I thought you said you had no control." Hermione stated.

"I don't. It just felt like the right thing to do."

Somehow, she didn't believe him.

* * *

Apparition wasn't any easier the second time. There was the half-second of terror-filled 'What if I get stuck?' and then the relief when breath comes easily again.

In another life, Harry's first sight of Hogwarts was around the bend of a large lake, sitting in a boat with three other people he'd soon be sharing classes with. In this life, he turned around and saw it glittering in the setting sun's light, set atop a hill. To the left was a massive lake, its surface still. To the right and in most other directions, forest.

Harry, who had never been out of the city, felt like he'd been sent back in time to the Middle Ages. And like he might just lose himself in this wide expanse of sky.

"Come on." Hermione said, starting up the path to the gate. "The hill doesn't get any easier to climb in the dark."

"So, Harry, you must've had a few magical accidents over the years." Kidd started up a conversation. "I mean, I hear they get worse without training."

"Well," Harry thought back. "I sometimes make those light orbs when I'm asleep. I made a wolf just this morning - Hermione saw that. Stuff like that happens once a month or so, when I get angry or scared or when - " He forced himself to remember that speaking about it wasn't taboo anymore. " - when the magic builds up too much. Those times are the most... explosive."

"You can feel the buildup?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, like ants crawling around under my skin only not as creepy."

"What's the biggest thing you've ever done?" Kidd asked eagerly.

Harry went silent for a long time, remembering. "I made someone die. It doesn't sound like a lot but I know it was because I could sleep for weeks after that and ate every day for the first week."

"What do you mean, die?"

"I mean I reached inside him and took the part that made him alive. His soul."

Hermione was frowning. "Wait, go back to that - you could sleep for weeks and eat?"

"Uh, yeah. Is not sleeping and eating not normal for a wizard?"

"In every book I've ever read, and that's a lot, there was no mention of it. How long have you gone without eating?"

"I think about six weeks. That was right before I killed that guy."

Hermione breathed in sharply. "That's... not possible. Not even with magic. Did you drink? Water? How much did you move around?"

"I don't know. For about a month I couldn't even force down water, didn't sleep at all the last two weeks."

"Harry." Hermione stopped, two feet taller on the steep hill, and faced him. "Humans can go three days without water and three weeks without food. This is fact. Even magic can only go so far. You should not be alive."

"That seems to happen to me a lot." Harry observed. His attempt to lighten the air with humor did not go over well.

Kidd defused the tension with a slap on the back that almost sent Harry all the way back down the hill and a quick 'Burning daylight, people!'

* * *

Harry's first thought on Albus Dumbledore was that he was definitely part of some cosmic joke. The old man looked like Merlin incarnate with the twinkling eyes and pointed hat. And the kindly, powerful grandfather look came right out of the Lord of the Ring's Gandalf character. He expressed this thought.

"He looks like the lovechild of Gandalf and Merlin." Harry muttered, hoping Dumbledore's hearing was so bad he wouldn't hear.

"I thought the exact same thing when I met him." Kidd whispered back, leaning closer for secrecy.

"You get used to it." Hermione said to them.

"If you're done," They all started a little at Dumbledore's voice. He was wearing a gentle smile and the twinkling in his eyes had increased until they were almost flashing at the three teenagers. "I would like to know why my student and former student have brought a guest. Mr. Mors, it's nice to see you again. Ms. Granger, you're out past curfew."

"I have a good reason." Hermione insisted.

The old man raised one eyebrow, silently asking what that reason was.

"I found him performing accidental magic in London." Hermione put a hand on Harry's shoulder and pushed him forward a bit. He glared at her. "He says his name's Harry Potter and he's got the scar."

Dumbledore's demeanor changed in an instant. He was suddenly serious, frowning so much that his already long beard dropped another two inches.

Obediently, Harry lifted up the fringe of his long hair, exposing the lightning bolt scar he'd had for as long as he could remember.

"Merlin," Dumbledore breathed.

"Not exactly," Kidd broke in. He seemed to be enjoying the show. "But close enough, I thought."

To Dumbledore, is was as if he hadn't spoken. "How long we have looked – we feared the worst."

Harry shifted uncomfortably at the look on the old man's face. It was like a hope long lost being reignited. It took years off Dumbledore's face and put their weight squarely on Harry's shoulders. He felt like these people's last hope and he did not like it.

He wouldn't be able to say no; he just wasn't the kind of person who could do that.

"I think... I think we'd settle in for this explanation." Dumbledore said. "It promises to be a long one. I want to know everything."

Harry spread his hands, palms up. "Lead the way."


	6. Harry: The Magician

**THE LONELY ONES**

* * *

_five: the magician, the mad, and the little boy lost_

* * *

You want me to start at the beginning? As close as I can remember it. My first magical accident? That was... that was a while ago.

I was still living with my foster father - I told you about him, didn't I, Kidd? He was okay, I guess. I mean, he didn't have to take me in when he found me on his porch. But he did. I like to think that he was good at heart, under all the alcohol and anger. Anyway, he gave me clothes and food and a roof, took care of me until I could take care of myself.

We never had enough, though. I had to steal food, stuff like crackers and, once, an entire cart full. That was the first time I used magic.

I was seven and could feel something growing inside me. I thought I was going to throw up or something - I was nervous enough. But what happened instead was that everyone around me just... stopped. I was so scared I ran out of the store, pushing an entire cart in front of me. Outside of the block the store was on, people were moving again, but I didn't go back to that shop for months, afraid I'd find the people still frozen there.

And I knew that I had done that.

There were a lot of little accidents after that, but it wasn't until my eleventh birthday that it started affecting me beyond the occasional outburst. After that, my appetite started to fade. I ate less and less, and when I tried to make myself eat more I just threw up. I stopped sleeping a bit after that - nothing could make me fall asleep, but I never felt tired.

I thought I was sick, or that something was wrong with me.

The accidents kept happening, more of them and stronger. I started making things appear - a lot of animals, little orbs of light whenever I freaked myself out in the dark. All the animals I created just sat there, waiting for me to tell them what to do. Some of them lasted for only minutes, others for days. It wasn't hard to hide them from my foster father, even in our small apartment. He rarely strayed into my room.

It took me a while, but I finally figured out that, after having an accident, I could eat a little, drink some water, even sleep. It helped to know a little bit more about what was happening to me. I figured that whatever caused these strange things was also keeping me alive in the way food and rest normally would.

No interruptions, please. I've never told anyone else this much.

My foster father wasn't an idiot. It took him the better part of a year to find out how much I wasn't eating, but that's just because he spent a lot of time at home being drunk out of his mind. He did eventually ask me about it, and I told him I just needed to eat less than other people. He didn't believe me, but I was twelve and he was starting to care less and less about what happened outside the bottle.

Two years passed like that. The biggest episode was on a school trip to the zoo - all the enclosures suddenly opened at once. The glass and bars just vanished. There was a riot as people tried to run, but a minute later all of it was back and only a few animals had bothered trying to get out.

How frequent? I don't have a definite number, but I think it was about once a week, back then. After a big one, I could go two weeks without the littlest accident.

When I was fourteen, my foster father caught me in the middle of the worst accident yet. I hadn't felt any strong emotion in three weeks, hadn't had any trouble all month. I would've thought I was cured if it weren't for still not being able to sleep or eat, and the buzzing feeling beneath my skin. It was so strong by then, it felt like my entire body had gone numb and then regained circulation, pins and needles all over.

I was laying in my bed trying not to move because it almost hurt. I remember concentrating... trying to force the buzzing down so I could get up, move around, at least pretend to be normal. I had almost gotten there when the door opened and he was standing there.

My concentration broke and with it, the dam.

I was separated from my body, looking down on the room. Things - creatures made from different parts of animals mixed up and put together wrong - spilled from me. It literally looked like they just jumped off my skin. Each of them, and there were dozens, took a few steps and then fell and sank into the floor. The sound of it was horrible, them making these pitiful little noises as they died. If they were actually alive.

It didn't end there. I glowed bright white and then _I_ was changing. I must've cycled through twenty forms, all of them animals or combination of animals, before I stopped and was human again. I couldn't see it at the time, but the plants outside our apartment all grew a few meters in a matter of minutes. It was winter and everything within a half-mile radius was in bloom. There were crows and pigeons, most likely every single one in the city, roosting on our roof and in the trees.

I came back to my body to find my foster father had fainted. When he came to, he didn't kick me out right away. First he tried to believe it was an alcohol-induced hallucination. But he couldn't deny that the trees kept blooming out of season, and I was stalked by those birds all over the city for the next week.

Eventually, it was too much for him to ignore. He met me at the door after school, with a bag already packed, and told me to never come back. I didn't.

Three days later, I was getting ready for a night of non-sleep in an alleyway when I heard screaming through a cracked window into the basement of the building.

Kidd, is it okay...? I'll just tell them how I found you.

I told myself I was just going to tell the screamer to shut up, but even I could tell whoever it was was in a lot of pain.

There was a guard at the door of the building but I didn't want him to see me so he didn't. That's also how I got to the basement, but the door I wanted was locked and I wasn't hearing anything from behind it anymore, which I knew was bad.

I could feel the magic growing inside me again. For the first time I tried to make it grow faster, and it was easy, a lot easier than suppressing it. Soon it was almost too much to hold on to, and then it really was too much to hold, but I didn't care. I just knew, right then, that it would do anything I wanted it to. It would follow my every whim.

Have you ever had that kind of power? If you haven't, you won't understand when I saw how amazing it was. That kind of control is addicting. Only later did I realize how scary it was, too, and you'll know why in a moment.

I created... something. It was worse than what got me thrown out. It was a wave of those half-creatures except that they didn't die. They spread through the entire building and left nothing alive.

I dragged Kidd out of there - more magic, because there's no way I could've lifted him alone - and when he came to on the sidewalk I told him I'd just found him out there. It was only then that I noticed he was missing both index fingers.

Kidd wouldn't let me go until I hot-wired a car and drove him home, and then he offered me a job as a driver.

Don't look at me like that. My life's been better than I could have hoped for. I know people who've been through worse. I'm not a good person.

After my first job, Kidd and some of the others took me out to celebrate. When you live like we did, 'celebrate' means a whorehouse and a lot of alcohol. I remembered my foster father, what the drink did to his life, but I was fourteen and surrounded by older people and afraid to disappoint. No, I don't blame or resent you for that, Kidd. You had no idea and I made sure of that.

That's where I met Friday. She was seventeen and trying to make enough money to survive. Mostly she just danced but often it wasn't enough and she had to... well. Kidd paid her and even though I had almost no idea what I was doing she was nice about it. I woke up the next morning with a massive hangover and swore never to do it again. A few weeks later, I found out that Friday was pregnant. I swore I'd support her if she kept the kid - looking back, it wasn't a smart move. But I've never regretted it, not for one second. I have a family.

She had Tobe and we were sort-of happy for a while, but, well, Fry was used to a lot of freedom and no commitment. She got scared and wild and started working again. She didn't want to be held down, wanted to make sure she could still do it on her own, you know? Maybe you don't. A lot of people like us, we like knowing that we can just drop everything and never look back, and you can never really know until you do it.

Both times that happened she came back pregnant again. You'd think I'd be mad at her, right? But I wasn't. I understood her and I gave her a place to sleep for as long as she wanted it. After the second time she decided she'd found something she didn't want to leave.

That's my life story, I guess. It sounds pretty bad to you, but it's not as bad as some. It could've been a lot worse.

* * *

When Harry had finished telling his story, Dumbledore was silent. The old man's brows were drawn together, shading heavily over his eyes. They were no longer twinkling.

"It wasn't so bad." Harry said again.

If Harry was anything like his mother or father, Dumbledore thought, he'd be drastically understating a lot of things. He'd be trying to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal.

"Miss Granger, I believe it is far past your curfew."

"But you've never enforced it before!" She protested. She'd practically lived in the library and practice classrooms ever since her parents died. She wasn't even sure what was still in her 'room' at Hogwarts.

"This is a special circumstance. Please go now. I thank you for bringing this to my attention."

Hermione almost wanted to protest again, but a second look at the headmaster stopped her. He almost seemed to be pleading with her to understand.

She swallowed, nodded, and stood up. The room was uncomfortably silent as she left, Harry shifting nervously in his seat.

Harry's thoughts were running along the lines of whether or not he was going to be able to leave here. Dumbledore didn't seem like the type to hold someone prisoner against his will, but appearances could be deceiving.

Outside the office, Hermione debated with herself for a moment. Should she listen in with one of her many eavesdropping spells, or should she respect the headmaster and leave him his privacy?

Eventually, she decided that the headmaster probably had wards against everything she knew about, and she went to the library.

* * *

Ron was eating breakfast over the morning paper when he read it. It had made headline news, of course, because all of Voldemort's attacks did. The Leaky Cauldron had almost fallen. Only the Order had prevented the Death Eaters from breaching Diagon.

He got all the way to page four before he figured out what was bothering him about that story.

Aunt Arabella had said she was going to Diagon for a bit of shopping.

Aunt Arabella was in the Order.

Aunt Arabella hadn't come back last night.

"Hogwarts!" Ron said as he stepped into the green flames.

* * *

"Is she dead!" Ron shouted, stepping into Dumbledore's personal space bubble. He ignored the two young men, one about his age and one older, standing off to the side with surprised looks on their faces.

"Mr. Weasley - "

"_Tell me!_"

"The casualties have not been fully counted." The headmaster said forcefully. Ron stepped back. "She was seen in the battle but we do not know what happened to her. We had hoped that she had returned home. Now... now I fear she was captured."

Ron took a deep breath. "Are you going to do anything about that?"

"Mr. Weasley, you have no idea how much I wish I could. If there was any hope..."

"But there isn't." Ron finished for him. He felt hollow. He should be feeling something else, but mostly he just wanted to sleep now.

When he was out of sight of the headmaster and his two guests, Ron pulled back one fist and drove it, over and over, into the stone wall. He went to the hospital wing with two shattered hands, but he finally felt something: anger.

The Death Eaters had taken from him for the last time.


	7. Hermione: The Goddess of Wisdom

**THE LONELY ONES**

* * *

_six: the goddess of wisdom and beauty, the savant, and the lord of lies_

* * *

"Why the hell not?" Hermione shouted at Dumbledore.

Used to dealing with emotional, slightly homicidal teenagers, the old man merely looked at her over his half-moon glasses. "For precisely this reason. Young people - not just you - cannot control themselves. They make mistakes. They do not have experience with the real world. They are undisciplined and unreliable. They are too emotional. There are a dozen other reasons I could list for you right now, but I think you get the point."

"I'm of-age!" Hermione said. "I can make my own decisions."

"Really?" Dumbledore asked, one white brow raised. "So that Ministry law changing the age to eighteen was just a belated April Fool's joke?"

Her mouth clamped shut with an audible click, nearly taking an inch off her tongue. She glared, wordless, trying to make him understand by force of will alone - this was something she had to do. She had to be in the Order, had to fight, had to avenge her parent's deaths.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said gently, and her really did mean it. "But when you are of-age, and when you have proven yourself able, you may join the Order. And 'able' is not just knowing everything there is to know about fighting a war. It means able to make the right decision, at the right time, and the right place, for the right reasons."

Hermione kept her mouth shut even as she left the office. She could see, quite clearly, that Albus Dumbledore would never help her on her path. And despite what that should've said to her, she did not care.

There were more important things than her damnation.

* * *

Hermione almost tripped over one of Harry's brood in the hall outside the headmaster's office. The little boy, maybe six years old, shot her a wide-eyed look and scampered off after his friends, already halfway down the corridor without him.

It had taken little more than a week for Harry Potter and his girl to adopt all of Hogwart's orphans, previously cared for by older students and anyone with spare time. The plan had been for Friday to just stay with Kidd's family, but that didn't last long. Harry didn't seem to be able to walk away from problems, even ones that weren't strictly his own. He saw children in need of a family and offered one - and they came running. There were at least two dozen running Friday and a few others ragged every day.

Harry himself was chasing this group of children, pretending to be a monster. He made little growling and roaring noises, eliciting squeals of laughter and screams. He stopped beside Hermione for a breather, watching the kids stop and dissolve into a game that seemed to consist of simply jumping and screaming as much as possible.

"They have so much energy." Harry said, grinning.

"I don't know how you put up with it. Are you going to be rested enough for training tonight?" Aside from being taught magic by Hogwarts teachers and Dumbledore himself, Harry was also learning from Hermione. Since he still didn't seem to need sleep, he had more time than he knew what to do with and filled it with these things.

"Probably. I just hope we don't have another accident like that last time." He winced, remembering.

Hermione did, too. Instead of taming his rather wild magic with practice, Harry only seemed to be loosening it. It came more readily to him now, both through a wand and without one. The problem with the latter was that, often, it followed his whims in moments of clear, sparkling power. At those times, if he for a just second wished something would happen, it did.

Last time, he'd produced an entire forest of trees in a classroom and populated it with rabbit-bat creatures that favored children and attacked adults and loved Harry like nothing else. It was now a favorite playground for Harry's brood of children. He swore he'd never even thought about creating something like it before.

"I think I'll be visiting Kidd as soon as I drop these ones off with Friday. He's been asking me to do a job with him for a while."

Hermione shrugged and, already tired of conversation, moved along without another word.

The library was her place of solace, but not today. She was too angry for its silent shelves and knowing books. Instead, the Forbidden Forest beckoned.

* * *

When Hermione got back, bleeding from a few scratches, covered in leaves and spider blood and one tire track, she went right to the Hospital Wing. She found it already full, most of the people gathered around one bed.

Hermione recognized Jenna and Kidd Mors, Harry, Dumbledore, and Madame Pomphrey. Through these gathered around, Hermione caught sight of a red-faced Friday laying on the bed.

"Get back, everyone!" The nurse ordered. "Mr. Potter may stay. The rest of you, give the poor girl some privacy!"

It was at this point that Hermione realized Friday was having her baby.

Magic made the process a lot faster and smoother, and soon Pomphrey was pushing a bright red infant into Harry's arms and returning to attend to Friday. Harry seemed to know exactly what he was doing as he got the baby to take its first breath and begin to cry.

Then he gave it back to Friday and Hermione became aware again that she had stepped in at least four streams, her feet were soaking, her already wild hair was covered in blood and leaves, and she was very uncomfortable.

The breath rushed out of her all at once and she decided she could use this opportunity to practice her cleaning and healing spells, and she left.

* * *

When she was cleaned up, Hermione fled to the library. The immediate atmosphere of quiet study was a welcome balm to her often testy attitude. The only problem was that someone was sitting at _her _table.

Ron Weasley, and Slytherin in her year. She didn't think she'd ever spoken to him, or worked with him. He was the least noticeable person in the world, despite being a flaming red Weasley in the house of snakes. She remembered there'd been and uproar about it in her first year, but she hadn't understood about blood then. Now she did and still didn't care.

She looked pointedly at him, and jerked one thumb over her shoulder. People tended to do things when ordered with the kind of authority Hermione could summon at will, even if there wasn't an actual threat to back it up. It was the illusion of power that she liked to use.

Except he didn't so much as blink.

He just sat there, not even studying. It occurred to Hermione that he'd been waiting here, for her - the thought was so foreign she almost didn't know what to do with it. How did people her age interact again? She'd forgotten.

She went with angry and demanding, always safe to fall back on.

"What are you doing here?" She asked him.

"I want something from you." Ron said. His voice was flat and almost dead. "Everyone knows you're always studying in here. That you want to join the Order when you graduate."

"So what about it?" Hermione demanded. "To the point."

"I want you to teach me what you're learning." Ron said, simply.

"No," Hermione told him right away. "I'm already wasting some of my waking hours training someone else. I don't want to take any more time to train you or anyone else. Get out."

"Hear me out." Ron insisted. "I know a lot more than you think. You've been asking Dumbledore to join the Order for months. You're already good enough to be in, and in a few months you'll probably know enough to be counted among the best of them. But he still refuses you. Why do you think that is?"

"He says I'm not ready. He says I want it for the wrong reasons."

"You want it to gain revenge for your parents, and for everyone else who's died in this war." Ron said. "I want to learn because I want to get revenge for the only family I've ever known, and the family I didn't get to know. I want the Death Eaters to die in agony and burn in a special part of Hell."

His eyes burned with something Hermione recognized; she saw it in the mirror every day.

"My proposal to you is simple: I want to form another Order. I have a few people in mind already, who want as we do and will work for it. With you as our leader and trainer and me as the strategist. What do you think?"

"I think you're having delusions of grandeur. The answer is still no." Hermione turned to walk away, her mood severely ruined and not about to brighten.

Ron caught her arm not three steps away. She hadn't even heard him get up. Hermione threw him her dirtiest glare and jerked her arm away.

"Think of it." He murmured in her ear. She couldn't see his face. "Picture it. You are leading them into battle. Your forces cut through the enemy because they are masters at magic and because you are in the lead. You have none of Dumbledore's silly sentimentality: your troops are killers and they are proud to avenge all the horror wrought upon them and you. You have their undying loyalty. They love you. They are your friends and they would do anything for you. You have a new family and they help you remember the one that was taken from you by the monster, _Voldemort_.

"You kill the monster yourself, with your own hand. You wish his death could be longer, and more painful, but he's too dangerous to leave alive for a moment longer. You do take the time to make sure his followers know the pain your parents did as they were murdered. You can almost feel their ghosts being put to rest. Your father's, your mother's, and the unborn child growing within her."

Hermione sucked in a breath, wondering how he could possibly _know_.

Even resisting it, Ron's whispered speech still touched something in her. The small child who sat lonely on a swing at the park and watched the other kids play, and decided she didn't need other people to be happy, to be great. The lonely child who wanted friends but wasn't willing to risk her heart for them.

Somehow, he'd unburied that part of her and brought it into the light. Hermione suddenly ached with a want for that vision, so hard it actually hurt in her chest. It was heartbreak and she'd never even had the pleasure of giving her heart away before it was crushed.

"You're a liar, Ronald Weasley." Hermione said, because she knew none of those things could ever happen. Then she found herself saying, "So, how are we going to do this?"


	8. Hermione: The Avenger

**THE LONELY ONES**

* * *

_seven: the avenger, the dogstar, and the devil on the shoulder_

* * *

The Room of Requirement had never looked like this before, Hermione was sure. Unless it had been used to train a group of homicidal teenagers before, which was highly unlikely but, taking magic into account, not impossible.

It was set up about as big as a Quidditch field, targets painted on the walls and mostly unbreakable practice dummies littered the floor. They looked almost perfectly human, and when activated would act like it, too. Hermione had been using these for a while, to get used to seeing something going from moving to not-moving. In her mind, the Death Eaters and their master were like these dummies: with only a thin semblance of life, something to be taken out.

The group was small, gathered by Ron, who assured her that not only did they have the right mindset, they were hard workers and wanted this just as much as she did. There was a surprising amount of people here. The Dark was practically forging it's own opposition.

"I'm not saying it's going to be easy." Hermione finished up her speech about just what she'd be putting them through. "I'm saying it's going to be worth it. That when we're ready - not done, we'll never be done - we'll fight. They don't want us. One side thinks we're too young, or that we don't fight for the right reasons; we're going to show them that we're their future and they'd better damn well listen, that we're better than them, and that our reason is the only reason. We're fighting for the people we've loved and lost. They fight because they think they're in the right. We fight because we know so, and because we know the Death Eaters deserve nothing more than a long and painful death. We'll give it to them.

"The other side thinks we're traitors. They think we're not _good enough _to live. We're going to show them otherwise. They think muggles are stealing their magic, because they're stupid and afraid. Afraid of us, and death, and everything. We're going to remind them why they're afraid."

A sort of power came to her then, when she could feel their minds in her grasp. For now, they were hers to command. She put words to the things she'd felt since her parent's murder.

"I am dead!" Hermione said, raising her arms out to either side as if to surrender, or greet a friend with an embrace. "I have been dead since the Death Eaters took everything from me. Only by revenge, only by to death of every single Death Eater and their leader can I be alive again. We are all dead until our families, our mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, are avenged. Until then, we are all dead, and we have no life to lose in this fight. Our lives are already lost. We have nothing left to lose, only to gain!"

* * *

Hermione at first didn't even think of adding Harry to her group. Not only was he not the type for killing, he had other things to do. There might have been a prophecy floating around, but Hermione was sensible about such things, and until she got some good hard proof, she wasn't putting her faith in a half-crocked seer who could do a funny voice at times.

When she did ask him, he showed up for practice, got one look at the human dummies and pinned her with a sad stare. Her hackles went up instantly; what right did he have to judge? Harry turned and walked out without another word, but he hadn't told anyone. He seemed to be willing to let them make their own mistakes.

In the meantime, Hermione learned that she hadn't exactly mastered most of the spells in her arsenal - but by teaching them over and over to seventeen different students, sixteen in her army and Harry, she learned them in and out and found the incantations jumping to the tip of her tongue without effort. She had quantity and was working on quality.

She ran her army in laps around the training room, built up their strength and endurance. She told them a wizard's weaknesses; his wand, his body, his foolishness. She told them about human weaknesses; thinking fallacies and mind over matter, and she made them killers.

It was never easy. Some complained simply because they had to keep up appearances. Some took longer than others to understand something. Neville Longbottom, once the class idiot, was an excellent, patient teacher, even if he could barely power most of the spells with his hand-me-down wand. Hermione promised herself she was going to get him a matched wand and see what he could really do, one of these days.

Not everything they learned was lethal. As Harry was accidentally showing her with his uncontrolled magic, even the simplest, easiest household charms could do more than war magic. An overpowered cleaning charm, an area effect, could blind a dozen enemies with soap and burning eyes, where a blasting curse could only hit one thing and tended to curve off with the last swish.

As she went around the room, helping those struggling and not getting it, she spoke continuously, sometimes hatred against the Death Eaters, sometimes encouragement and compliments that had her army glowing at her. It was better than anything she'd ever felt before, but she didn't lose sight of the goal: death to the enemy.

Death to the Death Eaters.

* * *

"Sirius Black?" Hermione rolled the name around her head for a moment. It sounded familiar.

"Supposedly Voldemort's right hand man during the first war, traitor to the Light and the Potters, gave up their location to the Dark Lord and caused the death of his 'best friends' James and Lily Potter." Ron rattled off.

"Oh, that one." Hermione said, finally remembering a book she'd read in her second year. "What about him? Isn't he in - oh, wait, he escaped Azkaban, didn't he?"

"About two years after they put him in there, yeah. Been missing ever since. No one really thinks about him all that much anymore, but if they do they think he's gone and rejoined Voldemort."

"And... you think otherwise." Hermione guessed.

"I've done my research. I've asked around. I don't think Black was the Secret Keeper, and we've encountered Voldemort's forces often enough that I'm confident we'd have seen him by now. He's supposed to be a confirmed Death Eater, and they never wear masks."

"So, what? What do you want?"

"The hunt for Black died off years ago, even before Voldemort returned. I think we should find him. He had a job doing professional warding; he could be a great help."

"Why'd he help us, though. The man's been locked up for something he didn't do, he's lost everything to this war before, and I don't know about you but I'm not stupid enough to come back after I've escaped Hell."

"All true, but he's never stopped looking for one thing: his godson. Harry Potter. Who we happen to know is currently residing within Hogwarts."

"I never told you - !"

"Yes you did, just now. Thanks for that. Now I know my plan will work."

Hermione glared at the manipulative teenager, who just smirked back at her with that superior look. "Keep it quiet. No one's supposed to know that Evan Heart is Harry Potter. It's pretty much the only thing protecting him right now."

"I'll keep my mouth shut." Ron promised. "Now, Sirius Black. For about the next two days, I know exactly where he is and where he's going. We need to go there, somehow convince him not to kill us on sight, and then convince him that we actually know where Harry is."

"Or we could just... you know." Hermione waved a hand to indicate what Ron was supposed to know. "Kidnap him." She clarified.

"That's Plan B." Ron said.

* * *

Sirius Black was hiding out in America, apparently, having exhausted places to search in England. He had given up nearly all hope up ever actually finding Harry and was now just wandering, never stopping long enough for the nightmares to catch up with him.

When they found him, he was holed up in a summer cabin, slowly dying of misery. He had set up a few pitiful wards that wouldn't hold off a determined owl, let alone a witch of Hermione's caliber.

"I hope this isn't an example of his work." Hermione said, not in the least impressed. _She _had been able to do better than this within three days of beginning ward study.

"Give the guy a break." Ron told her. "He's been depressed and on the run for, like, fourteen years. I'm amazed he hasn't just thrown himself in the way of a bus by now."

"I can _hear _you." Sirius said from the doorway.

Neither of them startled, though neither had known he was there. They did draw their wands and mentally review the army's positions around them. Sirius Black was surrounded.

"I'm not that bad." Sirius insisted. His appearance said otherwise; there were bags under his dull eyes and his hair was limp and unwashed. Hermione wanted to lock him in the shower for an hour or three - and not in the good way, though she could see where he had once been a heart-breaker.

"You look horrible." She told him right away.

"You're not so great yourself, girl. Magic can fix those teeth, you know. And the... hair... thing." He waved an arm around his head, indicating Hermione's usual amount of frizz set off even more in the summer humidity.

"We came here because we know you're innocent." Hermione tried to force the topic back on track, and told herself again that she didn't care what other people thought of her looks.

"And? Why do I care?" Sirius asked.

"Because we know where Harry is." Ron said. The army surrounding them wasn't close enough to hear them talking, but Ron had put up a silencing charm anyway. "And we'll take you to him."

Ron suddenly found himself thrown bodily against the wooden wall of the cabin, Sirius Black's arm cutting off most of his air. He became aware of an unpleasant unwashed smell.

"Where is he?" Sirius demanded. Ron saw insanity in those eyes, a bright and dangerous thing. "Take me to him or I'll - I swear I will - "

"You'll do what?" Hermione asked, her wand pointed at Sirius' back. She was far enough away that he'd never get close enough to touch her before she shot off a spell. "Go on, I dare you. Try something."

Sirius didn't move, almost didn't breathe. Then he let Ron go, and Ron slumped forward a bit, picking up his dropped wand as he rubbed his throat.

"What do you want?" Sirius asked.

"We'll take you to Harry." Hermione said again. "In return, we only want your expertise as a warder."

"You want me to ward something for you? You're just kids - what could possibly be that important."

"Do you remember being young, Mr. Black?" Hermione said in a low, dangerous voice. "Do you remember - never being afraid of anything, not even death, the feeling of immortality, the thrill that every new thing brought you. Do you remember that power? Do you remember the disdain for anyone older - thinking that you're the only one in the world who sees things as they are? It wasn't a lie. The young are going to inherit the world, but first we're going to make sure it's still worth inheriting.

"We are fighting Voldemort on our own because he has taken from us and we want him to pay, and Albus Dumbledore will not help with that. I'm sure you of all people can understand revenge, Sirius Black. You lost your friends and your godson to a traitor, were convicted for killing him. You only want to commit the crime you served for. I can understand that.

"The fact is, we need a secure place to gather, outside Hogwarts. I have the feeling that Dumbledore won't be letting us back in after we make our debut in the Wizarding World. We need someone to teach us warding, and maybe even whatever you know of fighting wizards. In return, you get Harry, and you get a chance at your revenge. What more could you ask for?"

By his silence, they knew: he wanted nothing else in the world.

* * *

"Harry," Hermione said. "There's someone I want you to meet."

She had found him in his suite of rooms with Friday and his own children, the rest having dispersed to their own dorms. It was late. Sirius was in dog form, hovering back and whining as he simultaneously tried to stare at Harry and seemed to be too afraid to look closer. Hermione couldn't think of a way to convince Dumbledore of Sirius' innocence, so they decided he'd just hide out as a dog.

"Is that a dog?" Harry asked. "Tobe's allergic."

"Am not!" Protested Tobe, who reached forward to pet the hound.

"Are too." Harry muttered. "Don't touch him, Tobe. You know what happened last time."

"Sorry, Dad." Tobe looked away sadly and didn't try for the dog again. Sirius yipped and Hermione wondered if she'd forgotten to mention Harry's situation. Oops.

"Who did you want me to meet, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"This is Sirius Black." Hermione nudged Sirius forward with one foot. "Go on." She told him. "Don't be such a cat about this."

Calling him a cat had the desired effect; Sirius threw her a human glare and with a pop, became a man again.

"Hi, Harry." Sirius said. "I'm your godfather."


	9. Hermione: The Learned Fool

**THE LONELY ONES**

* * *

_eight: the learned fool, the Angels, and the devil's advocate_

* * *

Hermione surveyed her troops with no small amount of pride, watched them destroy the training dummies. They weren't perfect, not yet; no one had the sort of field experience needed to make a real warrior, but that would come in time. She might lose a few of them, she knew, but they were all willing to give their lives for this cause. They had signed up to deal death and to take it, if necessary.

They were ready.

* * *

Sirius told Harry the entire story, from the beginning on the train when James Potter walked into his cabin and into his life and made himself comfortable. Through all seven years, James' and Sirius' ego and pranks and that feeling of immortality. James chasing Harry's mother for years until she was finally tricked into seeing him as an actual viable option. Their joy at having Harry. The war. Sirus' gravest mistake, trusting a rat. How Sirius was ultimately responsible for Harry's parent's death. And then searching nonstop for fifteen years, trying to set just this one thing right.

At some point, Friday decided to leave them alone together, and had gathered up the children and put them to bed. A baby started crying and there were the soft sounds of Friday trying to calm it.

It was almost morning when Sirius finished, in a hoarse whisper, apologizing to Harry for ruining everything, swearing that he would kill the rat and that James would be so proud of Harry, so proud. He couldn't look up at Harry any more.

He was then surprised, as Harry pulled him into a hug. It was gentle, the kind you give to small children who are fragile. "I don't blame you for any of it." Harry said into Sirius' shoulder. "I forgive you and if my father was anything like you remember him, he would forgive you, too, and he'd call you stupid for ever doubting him."

Sirius smiled and it pushed out the tears gathering in his eyes. "Thank you," He said. "Thank you."

Friday came out of another room then, just as they were both pulling back. Sirius was slightly embarrassed, but not nearly enough to ever regret it. He saw that she was carrying a child so young he had to have been born only weeks ago.

"He won't settle." Friday explained as she gave the baby over to Harry. "It's your turn."

Harry smiled at her and then at his son. "Sirius," He said without looking up. "This is my son, James Potter." He finally met Sirius' eyes again, offering the baby to him as he did so. "Do you want another chance at being a godfather?"

* * *

"I know a place the Death Eaters are going to attack soon, a muggleborn wizard who left the Wizarding World a while ago. She probably doesn't even know the war has started again." Ron said when she told him she thought their army was ready. "But there's still some things that need doing before we start fighting."

"Like what?"

"Well, for one, we don't even have a name. For another, I sincerely doubt Dumbledore's going to be letting us back into this castle after we've become killers. And there's still strategy to talk over, tactics and escape plans. Running a guerrilla group requires a lot of organization. We need a secure way to communicate with each other instantly, a way to find lost members, a safe place to get back to… and a plan for anyone who gets captured. We need to make it clear that there are going to be no rescues."

"Those can all be solved pretty easily, I think." Hermione said. "Even the secure communication and safe place, now that we've got a warder."

Ron smiled, and something about it set Hermione's danger senses on high. "I'm sure you'll figure something out."

"Weasley." Hermione said. He had been about to walk away, but now turned to her again. "Why are you doing this?" She asked, honestly curious. "What's in it for you?"

Ron spread his arms, palms up. "What's in it for anyone? Revenge. They took everything from me, and I will take everything from them if it is the last thing I do. I will stop this war and make sure nothing like it ever happens again."

"How are you going to do that? Wars happen. They always have and always will, until we've completely wiped ourselves off the face of the Earth."

Ron shrugged. "If that's what it takes."

She told herself he was joking, but she knew he had spoken truly. As he walked away, Hermione had to wonder if all of this was worth it.

If she was really willing to sell her soul for revenge.

* * *

Ron berated himself as he walked away. He hadn't meant to give away as much as he had – he'd as good as told Hermione the lengths he was willing to go to. But he'd thought that maybe she would understand, that they had the chance to really prove something to the world. He'd thought she was like him.

He wouldn't make that mistake again. No one was like him. Lies came easily, plans came easier, and he couldn't stop using people, even when he didn't mean to. It was compulsory to manipulate people to his own ends; he didn't even realize he was doing it a lot of the time. It was just so simple. He didn't know why people thought humans were hard to understand.

People will believe a lie because they want it to be true, or because they are afraid that it is. Ron had always known that.

Hermione wasn't his to control, not yet. She had bitten at the bait he laid: the vision of her as in important person, someone people read about in history books, someone with friends and family and people who cared. Humans are lonely creatures and she more so than most, and he used that against her no matter how dirty it made him feel. She shouldn't have left herself so open to attack; Ron hadn't. He told himself it was her own fault.

Ron told himself a lot of things.

Like it's _all going to be worth it. The end justifies the means_.

* * *

"We have information on an attack Voldemort has planned." Hermione announced to her army. She reminded herself to ask Ron exactly where he'd 'overhead' this sort of information. "And we're going to be there, to meet the Death Eaters and stop them from ruining any more lives."

They cheered all at once, sending noise bouncing off the walls. Hermione waited for them to settle.

"Before we leave, there are things to go over. We must be prepared. They will be taken by surprise, and we must use that. In a few minutes I'll hand out portkeys to get you back here safely, and explain how this is going to work.

"Right now, we need a name for ourselves. Something the Death Eaters will quake in fear of when they speak it. Something they will know means death. Ideas?"

There were a few shouted right away, almost all of which sounded exactly like a couple of teenagers with skewed ideas of 'cool' came up with it. Then Neville spoke.

"What are they afraid of?" He said it in a normal voice but somehow caught everyone's attention.

Neville's parents had been tortured to insanity by Death Eaters, Ron had told Hermione. His grandmother had been lost to them just last school year, around midwinter. It had changed the typically silent and shy boy, and he had changed even more since gaining a purpose in her army. He stood with a new confidence, and an anger.

"They're afraid of death," Hermione said. "And we are the angels of the dead. We will destroy them a thousand times over for the things they have done. They think they know about fear, and how to use it. We will show them how very stupid they are."

* * *

Bodies dropped in all around her, and Hermione was grinning from ear to ear. Neville landed next to her, his portkey dropping him on his feet. There was blood running from a cut on his forehead, but he was smiling just as wide. There was elated laughter as all seventeen of the Angels who'd left the castle returned whole and alive.

Hermione planned a speech on their way up to the castle. Something inspirational. Something that would make this moment stick in their minds forever. She was distracted by watching her Angels hug each other, exchange laughs and short stories about the battles they'd fought this night.

They were almost at the doors to the Great Hall when any of them noticed a tall, thin figure standing there.

It was dark outside, the half-moon casting little light. The castle's warm glow through the open doors darkened the figure to pitch blackness. Hermione's good mood vanished.

"What have you done?" Dumbledore asked in a voice so quiet and so suffused with anger that she almost flinched. It would have been better if he'd shouted it.

"Only what you would not, and could not." She answered him, surprisingly unshaken. She had to be strong in front of her Angels, she had to be strong for them. This was a cause she believed in with her whole heart.

"You - I have _reasons _for the things I do, Ms. Granger." Dumbledore said.

"Please, Hermione." She said, ready to make this impossible for him.

He continued as if he had not heard. "Whether or not you are privy to them, they are _good reasons_, and they should not be _ignored_." He stopped glaring at Hermione in specific long enough to send his glare at the group in general. "All of you. You're just children. This is not your war."

"How can you say that?" Hermione exploded. "_We're _the ones suffering, just as much as anyone else. And _you won't let us help! _So we're going to do it _our way_, and you'll get no damn say in any of it! You didn't want us, you told us to go away. Well, we did. We're _made _to deny authority, even yours, Dumbledore. I asked three times and three times you denied me, and I'm done with your stupid bloody _reasons_. We'll be the ones to end this war because _you're too weak_. Your time is up. Stop making excuses and give the power to someone else."

"Ms. Granger." Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height, a good six inches over her head. She didn't move. "I'm going to give you one chance, and one chance only to take everything back. To disband your little - _vigilante group_. You can come back to Hogwarts, come back to your old lives, with no repercussions, so long as you swear to never do it again. Please," His demeanor changed from righteous anger to a sudden, tired sadness. "You don't know what you're doing. You don't know what you're getting into."

"I'm damning my soul." Hermione said. "And it's worth it. We're Death's Angels now, Professor Dumbledore." She said it almost gently, her anger spent. Now she just felt tired, and a kind of pity for this man. "We've blood on our hands, and we mean to get more of it. Please don't try to stop us."

Dumbledore sighed and removed his half-moon glasses, cleaning them on his robes. "You may enter the castle." He said, still looking down at his glasses. "But I will try to stop you from doing this, with everything I have."

"You will fail." Hermione told him simply.


	10. Hermione: The Willing Blind

**THE LONELY ONES**

* * *

_nine: the willing blind, somebody's son, and the chessmaster_

* * *

Hermione stopped at seeing Harry, sitting at their usual study table. Something about him was different.

"I don't want to study today." He said to her without looking up from tracing the grain of wood on the table. "I just want to talk."

"I've better things to do than talk." Hermione said, but she didn't try to leave. She didn't sit down, either.

"Sit, please." Harry said more insistently, and Hermione found herself pressed forcefully into a chair that obediently slid out to meet her. Harry blinked an finally looked up. "Sorry. I didn't mean to do that."

Whether or not he had, Hermione thought, it had been a blatant threat. "What do you want to talk about?" She asked instead.

"Your little group."

"The Angels of the Dead." She stated.

He grimaced. "Yes. Them. Tell me about them."

"Why? You going to join up?"

Hermione required a Wizard's Oath, carefully worded by Ron himself. Gone were the days when she could train each of them one on one. Her Angels numbered in the dozens now. More had flocked to them when their work was seen. The thirteen deaths and other injuries so far had been well worth it.

"No." Harry said. "I just want to understand. So tell me about it. Tell me why you think what you do is okay."

"I don't think that." Hermione said right away. "I think I'm a horrible person, and what I'm doing is unforgivable. I'm teaching children to be killers. Even the adults, the ones who are older than me, follow my command. They put their trust in me and I allow it, knowing full well that one day I may have to betray it. I don't delude myself into thinking that what I do is good, or right, only necessary."

"Then you're either a fool," Harry said, "Or a liar. Which do you prefer?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione demanded to know.

"You're a fool because you don't believe in your cause. You might tell yourself you're willing to die for it, and that may even be true - but you're not willing to live for it, and you do not fight with your whole heart. Or you're a liar, and you're lying to yourself, the one person you should never, ever lie to. You're telling yourself that what you're doing is wrong, but you feel that it is right, and you're only hurting yourself by splitting your mind between the lie and the truth."

"I don't need to believe in anything."

"You might not think so, but that's just another lie." Harry said. "Everyone needs something to believe in, to be strong. I'll give you an example so you can wrap your head around this: there is a man who is hungry, so hungry he will kill you to get food. He is twice your size. He knows that what he's doing is wrong, but he doesn't care. There is also a young woman, smaller than you, weaker, who believes with all of her heart and being that you have stolen her baby, and that your death will bring it back to her. Who are you more afraid of?"

Harry cut her off before Hermione could speak. "Logically, you say the man. You are wrong. The man will give up if he meets too much opposition. His life is important to him. The woman will never give up. Her life means nothing to her. She will never stop trying to kill you, not until one of you is dead. She is the most dangerous because she has something larger than herself to believe in: her love for her child."

Hermione glared. "So you think I'm weak?" She asked. "Because I don't hold to what you believe in?"

"No. I think you're weak because you are fighting for all the wrong reasons."

"There it is again! There are no good or bad reasons."

"I did not say 'good' or 'bad'. I said wrong, and right and wrong are in the perspective of the speaker. Your reasons are wrong for the Light, the side you claim to fight for. But they fit right in with what Lord Voldemort teaches his Death Eaters."

"The side I claim - ! Are you comparing me to _Voldemort_? I am _nothing _like him! I am not a monster!"

"Aren't you? You as good as admitted to thinking so before. You don't think this is how it started for him? Harmless, just friends, just a means to an end. You don't think he had visions of being great? He did not just wake up one day and decide he was going to be a tyrant, cause a genocide. He never thought of himself as being in the wrong. Madmen never do."

Hermione shut her mouth and simply glared at Harry. He couldn't see inside her head, he didn't know what she was thinking. He was putting words in her mouth and she hated that. He didn't know her. Hermione would never let herself become like that. She would never be like Voldemort.

"You're thinking that you're never going to be like him." Harry said, desperate now. "You're thinking I can't know everything. You're thinking I'm wrong, but I'm _not_. Hermione, if you continue down this path, there won't be anything in this world that can save your soul. If you keep on as you are you will become just like him. You will become what you are hunting. Please, stop this."

Hermione stood and eyed him coldly. Harry was trying to say he knew her mind, but he didn't, no one knew her like herself. She would be fine. She knew what lines couldn't be crossed. She would never become a monster like the ones she hunted. She was too strong for that.

"May you see the truth before it is too late." Harry whispered to her back as she walked away, but Hermione heard it and what came after. "May death have mercy on you, because I will not."

* * *

"We need a new base." Hermione told Ron the next time she saw him. Harry's words had not bothered her because she did not let them. She didn't care what he thought of her. She just didn't want to share a home with people who didn't understand why she needed to do the things she did. That was all. "We can't run the Angels from here. We can't risk Dumbledore's interference."

And she was a little concerned for what Harry's magic could and would do to keep them here.

"I've had someplace in mind for a while." Ron said. "It's close enough that you'd still have the Hogwarts library, and the recruits we get from the Hogwarts students. We could keep that as a base of operations and just house the Angels at Hogwarts. If you want to move out completely, we'd need to find someone willing to donate food and money, or find a way to pay for it. It's a great deal more work but also more independence."

"No, nothing so drastic just yet." Hermione said, considering. "Just somewhere our warning system can reach our response team, and they'll be able to leave quickly. Somewhere easy to secure and defend, if we need to."  
Ron nodded. "I know just the place. You know the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade? It's up on a steep hill, has a good view. There's forest all around it, but that's better than open field if you think about it. Wizards have invisibility spells, and an open field makes sentries rely on their eyes. In a forest they'll be more alert. It's almost falling down, but we can look up some architecture magic and fix that. The ground beneath is all bedrock - horrible for burrowing quickly and quietly.

"Aside from it's defense, there's three passages, two on the castle grounds, one in Hogwarts itself, which lead into and just outside of the Shack. That's three different escape routes or entrances. It's abandoned. Structurally, it's sound as long as someone doesn't start firing off blasting curses at the walls. And I know somebody who has a way to get into the Room of Requirement from anywhere."

"Sounds almost too good to be true." Hermione commented dryly. "Why haven't you mentioned this before?"

Ron shrugged. "There was really no need." And he'd hoped to keep it to himself, should he ever need somewhere to run to.

"We'll start work immediately. Gather up teams... 3 and 4. Put 2 and 5 on standby to take over after an eight-hour shift. Send someone for Black; it's time he did that warding he promised us. 1 and 6 are on first response for the next two days. After that, rotate the teams until everything is ready."

"I'm estimating about two weeks at this point." Ron said with a nod at his own mental calculations.

"Let's see if we can't do it in one." Hermione challenged.

* * *

Sirius met her at the edge of the Whomping Willow's reach, watching the tree thoughtfully.

"You're finally getting out from under Dumbledore's eyes?" Sirius said by way of greeting.

"Got it in one." Hermione replied. "And you have a debt to fulfill. We're setting up shop in the Shrieking Shack. I want you to take three Angels and teach them every protective ward you know. I want you and those Angels to create the strongest wards you know. I don't care what you might need - we'll get it. I want wards as strong as Hogwarts'."

"That's not possible." Sirius said. "The Founders used magic that's long since been lost."

"Then we will either find it, or make something better." Hermione told him. "That's what we do. We look to the future, not the past like so many wizards do."

"And when the wards are done, my debt is paid?" Sirius asked.

Hermione nodded. "In full. However, if at the end you find yourself still wanting to help, we do need someone with battle experience to train the new recruits. Someone older, who commands more automatic respect from adults."

Sirius hesitated. "Harry doesn't really approve of your Angels. I can understand his viewpoint - you're just kids. You don't know what you're doing here. You can't just give up the rest of your lives like this."

Hermione turned to face him fully, and pierced him through with a look of anger and madness. "_Watch me_." She snarled.

* * *

Sirius held up his end of the bargain, and then some. He trained the three Angels Hermione assigned to him, and then offered survival training. Hermione didn't fool herself into thinking he was a willing ally; he said it himself, to her face, that he was just trying to make sure as few of them as possible ended up in graves.

Hermione didn't tell him that none of them ended up in graves, their bones were stripped and laid into the Shack's walls in a borderline-Dark ward pattern she'd found in a book in France one summer. Wizards in the French army had reinforced the Maginot Line during the beginning of World War Two with it. It was a move of last defense.

Even in death, they protected the living. Hermione thought it was a sweet irony.

Harry didn't come to her lessons anymore. After two sessions spent in silent reading, waiting for him, Hermione decided she wasn't going to acknowledge this protest against what she was doing. It made her furious, those two hours of waiting. It made her embarrassed, like she'd been stood up on a date while everyone was watching, where everyone could see.

She had to remind herself that she had nothing to prove to them, that she was better than them.

Hermione only spent about an hour in the castle each day now, so busy with the Angels. She sent out teams and scouts to check up with potential targets regularly, determined not to let anybody else die. The smart ones accepted her offer of shelter and came to live in the Shack, which was quickly acquiring extensions in the dozens, mostly up and down. They still went to their jobs, and still provided for themselves. Hermione gave it another three weeks before she started asking for rent, to help support the Angel's efforts.

Others had warning wards on their perimeters. The two teams on first response would get the signal, send it along for backup as soon as possible, and apparate to the house moments after the alarm was given. With seven different teams of six so far, Death's Angels were still strong.

New recruits came from Hogwarts every day, people who'd lost family to the Death Eaters, people who knew what they were doing was right. The youngest was twelve. Hermione saw him destroy a training dummy with only an incendio spell and signed him up for training. All she required was good aim and a willingness to do whatever was necessary. The oldest was thirty.

Later, Hermione would look back and wonder if that should have told her anything.

* * *

"We need to step this war up." Hermione said to Ron, three weeks after they had moved into the Shack. Hogwarts term started tomorrow. "We need to bring it to the Death Eaters. Action, not reaction."

"I know." Ron said. "I've been working on that. I've got some ideas. I know where they have supplies stored."

Hermione nodded. That was good. Often wars were won not because one side crushed the other, but because one side became unable to wage war anymore.

"I want six teams." She said. "I'll lead the attack myself. I think it's 5's turn on call."

"Are you going to make another speech?" Ron asked.

Hermione considered. "No. I wouldn't know what to say. I know my speeches aren't very inspirational. I'm based in logic. They need emotion. A speech would be a waste of effort."

Ron, smiling, looked at her. "They love you Hermione."

_Why doesn't it feel like it?_ Hermione didn't ask. _It should feel like something. I should feel something._


	11. Hermione: The Enchantress

**THE LONELY ONES**

* * *

_ten: the enchantress, the bard, and the disciples_

* * *

Draco had been down in the family dungeons dozens of times before. As children, he, Crabbe, and Goyle had played many a game of hide and seek down there. But the atmosphere had changed in recent years, more so since his father had taken up permanent residence.

It was at its worst, now, when they had a prisoner.

Now Draco hated descending the stone steps into the windowless cellar, but he'd been relegated to food-service for the prisoner, and made the trip twice a day. When Aunt Bellatrix assigned him the job, she'd winked and said that it was okay if he missed a day or two.

Draco never missed a day.

Today's fare was supposed to be a portion of bread and water that might feed an anorexic house elf, but certainly not a person. As soon as he was out of the kitchen, Draco added the three sandwiches he'd pilfered from his own huge meals and continued on his way. The cell guard barely looked up as he let Draco in.

"You could help me," The prisoner said, moving closer. She skirted around the rotting corpse in the center of her cell, never taking her eyes off the food. "You bring food, more than you should, but you don't really help."

Draco couldn't even look her in the eyes. He kept his head bent over the tray as he set it on the floor. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

He could feel her eyes like coals, burning into his head. "Not sorry enough."

"No," Draco agreed. "Never enough."

"You're a fucking coward," she snarled suddenly, and Draco's head jerked up out of reflex. He met her eyes, and it was a mistake.

Hermione Granger's hair was matted with dried blood, frizzed and curled wildly around two madness-bright eyes. She sneered at him, growled, "But we always knew that, didn't we?"

* * *

**FIVE DAYS AGO**

"So, as soon as the new foundations set in we'll set up the greenhouses and start warding. Then we plant, and I estimate about three weeks after that before we become more or less self-sufficient food-wise. The time could be halved with more workers," Neville looked at Hermione, who shook her head. "But I guess those aren't available." He sat down at the end of his status report.

"Thank you, Neville," Hermione smiled at him. "That's good news, because I think Dumbledore is on the verge of kicking us out of Hogwarts altogether."

"We'll still have our agents inside the school," Ron reminded.

"Yes. Well, thank you all for coming to this meeting, if someone would please fill Susan in on what we have discussed - yes, thank you, Neville. Ron, a word."

Hermione waited for her team leaders to file out completely before she turned to Ron. "How are things on the offensive front?" she asked. "Any more good targets?"

"Yes, actually," Ron cast a mapping spell, and a two-dimensional England appeared before him. He pointed to an area in the south-west. "Right here, there appears to be a house storing supplies. Food, tents, everything an army on the move needs to stay on the move. Taking it out would set back his plans a bit."

"Strategically, is it worth attacking?"

"Definitely."

"Expected loss of life?

"The best number to send is four teams. Of those, I expect that one in every six people will not be coming back. You understand that being the attacking force puts us more at risk."

"Yes, that I do. We've certainly killed enough of them. Acceptable losses. Leave a full report on my desk by tomorrow, and we strike the next day."

"Yes, sir," Ron said, smiling a little.

* * *

"Terry," Hermione called outside the charms lab door. "Clear?"

There was a crash from inside, the sound of swearing, and then the door opened to reveal Terry Boot, covered in what looked like soot. "Boss!" he exclaimed, sounding surprised. "Uh, yeah, it is now."

"How are the mercy charms coming along?" Hermione asked, looking around the hectic room.

In response, Terry held up a flat, polished silver disc, about the size of a galleon. It was engraved with golden lines. "Very well. The spell to hide it from scanning spells is malfunctioning a bit, but otherwise it does its job."

"Thank you. I have to say, not a lot of wizards could handle making suicide talismans, but you stepped up. You're doing a great job."

Terry was mixture of proud and embarrassed. "Yeah, well, I figure it really is a mercy. Better than being tortured to death by Death Eaters."

"That's a good way to look at it. Listen, how many can you have done in two days?"

"Uh... about thirty-five, more with some of our better spell weavers. Why, the Death Eater's got a raid planned?"

"No," Hermione's smile was sharp. "But _we _do."

* * *

The Death Eater's storage house was a bit isolated, a bit rundown. The local muggles thought it was condemned, in danger of collapsing in a stiff breeze. In reality, the dilapidated state was a carefully maintained facade.

Ward magic was heaped, layer upon layer, haphazardly over the house. The first few layers were solely to keep muggles away and hide the building from view. Under that, a few proximity wards, an early warning system. The lowest layer was an anti-apparition ward that was keyed to allow the Dark Marked through.

The Angels approached from all sides on foot, stopped outside the warning wards. Hermione gave the signal for her warders to rip the proximity alarms down, and then they moved in fast.

The warders set up a second anti-apparition right away, keyed to the Angel's mercy charms. The Death Eaters couldn't get out for reinforcements, but until the other ward came down neither could the Angels.

Hermione had four teams of six. They flanked the four corner of the house and ignored conventional means of entrance. Wizards reinforced doors and windows, but tended to not even think about the flimsy walls. In moments, the Angels had blasted wide holes in the side of the house and invaded.

Hermione, hanging back from the fighting, felt the anti-apparition ward go down and she started to smile.

An Angel ran up to her, panicked and bleeding from the forehead. "That was our ward!" he screamed. "That was ours!"

Hermione felt her smile freeze, and slip. Her eyes widened with the sudden wave of cold that came over her. "Fall back," she heard herself say, too quiet. "Fall back! _Retreat_, damn it, _get the hell out of here_!"

A green light washed over her eyes, and there was a sound like water rushing past her ears, or wings.

And then there was nothing at all.

* * *

By all means, she shouldn't have woken up. But the killing curse was underpowered, lacking in the killing intent, and only knocked her out. There may also have been some brain damage, or the crocodiles in the corner of her cell were real. She wouldn't put it past Malfoy to have a couple of vicious reptiles in his dungeon.

Her clothes had been replaced with a plain, thin robe, the mercy charm found and taken away. Hermione thought she probably wouldn't have used it anyway. She waited until someone came and found her awake.

Then the torture began.

It was mostly the Cruciatus curse, but apparently one of the Death Eaters had a thing for seeing blood. After about an hour, when her throat was raw and her mind scrambled for purchase that wasn't slicked in pain, they stopped. She was almost relieved, but then they brought in Alison, one of her Angels.

They took their time, let her scream at them for a while. She shouted every expletive she'd ever heard at them, cursed their families for generations. She told them all the ways she wanted to hurt them. Listening, Hermione felt bile rising in her throat.

Alison had lost a mother and a brother to the war. She had just sworn to cut off the Death Eater's arm and make him eat it. She had killed, today and in other battles.

Alison was thirteen years old.

She broke after two hours, sobbing and pleading for them to stop, please stop. Then, because of Hermione's damned Unbreakable Oath, she choked on all the words they wanted to hear. Hermione screamed louder than Alison, until they gagged her.

At three hours, Alison went mad.

At four, she was dead.

They left her body rotting in the center of the cell.

Hermione didn't stop screaming for a long time.

* * *

Two days later, she looked into Draco Malfoy's scared gray eyes and remembered Alison. Remembered all the burning anger, and the screams she would hear in her sleep until the day she died.

Remembered the father Alison had left behind, who had tried to keep her from joining the Angels. Who had lost everything else and loved her more than anything. She had forced him from the Angel's headquarters when he tried to make Alison leave. She had held Alison's hand as the girl told her father that she was going to kill the people who killed her mother. Hermione had turned his daughter against him, had stolen her away for a war that was not hers to fight.

_I did this_, Hermione thought. _Their blood is on my hands. I have become the darkness I hunted_.

_**It stops now.**_


End file.
